085  8827 


ifornia 
mal 


-•      MVWMMHHL'' 


m 


I  I  i 


^.'^.'B^B'Vj* 


:  i  P 


-U 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD 


MRS.  A.  D.  T.  WHITNEY, 

AUTHOR  OP  "HITHERTO,"  "THE  GAYWORTHYST7''7' PATIENCE  STRONG'S  OUTINGS" 

ETC.,  ETC. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  C.  G.  BUSH. 


T<  do  my  duty  in  that  state  of  life  to  which  it  shall  please  God  to  call  me.' 


BOSTON: 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY. 

Htoerstte  Press, 

1882. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1868,  by 

A.  K.  LORING, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


PREFACE. 


I  BEGAN  this  story  for  young  girls.  It  has  grown,  as  they 
grow,  to  womanhood.  It  makes  no  artistic  pretension.  It  is 
a  simple  record  of  something  of  the  thought  and  life  that  lies 
between  fourteen  and  twenty. 

I  dedicate  it,  as  it  is,  to  these  young  girls,  who  dream,  and 
wish,  and  strive,  and  err;  and  find,  perhaps,  little  help  to  in 
terpret  their  own  spirits  to  themselves.  I  believe  and  hope 
that  there  is  nothing  in  it  which  shall  hinder  them  in  what  is 
noblest  and  truest. 

May  there  be  something  that  shall  lift  them  —  though  by 

ever  so  little  —  up ! 

A.  D.  T.  W- 


CONTENTS. 


CBAPTBB  •  PAaB 

I.    "MONET,  MONEY!" 7 

II.     SOETES 12 

III.  AUNT  HENDERSON 17 

IV.  GLpRY  MCWHIRK 2J 

V.   SOMETHING  HAPPENS    .  . 35 

VI.   AUNT  HENDERSON'S  GIRL-HUNT 55 

VII.    CARES;  AND  WHAT  CAME  OF  THEM fig 

VIII.   A  NICHE  IN  LIFE,  AND  A  WOMAN  TO  FILL  IT 71 

IX.   LIFE  OR  DEATH? 78 

X.    ROUGH  ENDS - 82 

XI.    CROSS  CORNERS ,  .  90 

XII.   A  RECONNOISSANCE -  ...  100 

XIII.  DEVELOPMENT 110 

XIV.  A  DRIVE  WITH  THE  DOCTOK  « 118 

XV.    NEW  DUTIES 131 

XVI.    "  BLESSED  BE  YE,  POOR  " 138 

XVII.    FROST-WONDERS 152 

XVIII     OUT  IN  THE  SNOW ino 

XIX.    A  "  LEADING  " 174 

1* 


6  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAoa 

XX.   PAUL 183 

XXI.   PRESSURE .  .  < 194 

XXII.    ROGER  AEMSTEOKO'S  STORY 204 

XXIII.  QUESTION  AND  ANSWER 211 

XXIV.  CONFLICT 229 

XXV.   A  GAME  AT  CHESS 2.°,8 

XXVI.    LAKESIDE 245 

XXVII.    AT  THE  MILLS 253 

XXVIII.    LOCKED  IN 258 

XXIX.    HOME 272 

XXX.    AUNT  HENDERSON'S  MYSTERY 280 

XXXI.   NURSE  SAMPSON'S  WAY  OF  LOOKING  AT  IT 291 

XXXII.    GLORY  MCWIIIRK'S  INSPIRATION 300 

XXXIII.  LAST  HOURS 308 

XXXIV.  MRS.  PARLEY  GIMP 314 

XXXV.   INDIAN  SUMMER 320 

XXXVI.    CHRISTMAS-TIDE 328 

XXXVII.    THE  WEDDING  JOURNEY 3i3 


FAITH   GARTNEFS   GIRLHOOD. 


CHAPTER  I. 
"MONEY,  MONEY!" 


"  Shoe  the  horse  and  shoe  the  mare, 
And  let  the  little  colt  go  bare." 


EAST  or  West,  it  matters  not  where,  —  the  story  may, 
doubtless,  indicate  something  of  latitude  and  longitude  as 
it  proceeds,  —  in  the  city  of  Mishaumok,  lived  Henderson 
Gartney,  Esq.,  one  of  those  American  gentlemen  of  whom, 
if  she  were  ever  canonized,  Martha  of  Bethany  must  be  the 
patron  saint,  —  if  again,  feminine  celestials,  sainthood  once 
achieved  through  the  weary  experience  of  earth,  don't  know 
better  than  to  assume  such  charge  of  wayward  man, — 
born,  as  they  are,  seemingly,  to  the  life-destiny  of  being 
ever  "  careful  and  troubled  about  many  things." 

"We  have  all  of  us,  as  little  girls,  read  "Rosamond." 
.Now,  one  of  Rosamond's  early  worries  suggests  a  key  tc 
half  the  worries,  early  and  late,  of  grown  men  and  women. 
The  silver  paper  won't  cover  the  basket. 

Mr.  Gartney  had  spent  his  years,  from  twenty-five  to 
forty,  in  sedulously  tugging  at  tne  corners.  He  had  had 
his  share  of  silver  paper,  too,  —  only  the  basket  was  a  little 
too  big. 


8  FAITH  GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

In  a  pleasant  apartment,  half  library,  half  parlor,  and 
osed  in  the  winter  months  as  a  breakfast  room,  beside  a 
table  still  covered  with  the  remnants  of  the  morning  meal, 
sat  Mra  Gartney  and  her  young  daughter,  Faith ;  the  latter 
with  a  somewhat  disconcerted,  not  to  say  rueful,  expression 
of  face. 

.A  pair  of  slippers  on  the  hearth  and  the  morning  paper 
thrown  down  beside  an  arm-chair,  gave  hint  of  the  recent 
presence  of  the  master  of  the  house. 

"  Then  I  suppose  I  can't  go,"  remarked  the  young  lady. 

"  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  answered  the  elder,  in  a  help 
less,  worried  sort  of  tone.  "It  don't  seem  really  right  to 
ask  your  father  for  the  money.  I  did  just  speak  of  your 
wanting  some  things  for  a  party,  but  I  suppose  he  has  for- 
gotten  it ;  and,  to-day,  I  hate  to  trouble  him  with  reminding. 
Must  you  really  have  new  gloves  and  slippers,  both  ?  " 

Faith  held  up  her  little  foot  for  answer,  shod  with  a  partly- 
worn  bronze  kid,  reduced  to  morning  service. 

"  These  are  the  best  I  've  got.  And  my  gloves  have  been 
cleaned  over  and  over,  till  you  said  yourself,  last  time,  they 
would  hardly  do  to  wear- again.  If  it  were  eny  use,  I  should 
say  I  must  have  a  new  dress ;  but  I  thought  at  least  I 
should  fresheii  up  with  the  '  little  fixings,'  and  perhaps  have 
something  left  for  a  few  natural  flowers  for  my  hair." 

"  I  know.  But  your  father  looked  annoyed  when  I  told 
him  we  should  want  fresh  marketing  to-day.  He  is  really 
pinched,  just  now,  for  ready  money,  —  and  he  is  so  discour 
aged  about  the  times.  He  told  me  only  last  night  of  a  man 
who  owed  him  five  hundred  dollars,  and  came  to  say  he 
did  n't  know  as  he  coul3  pay  a  cent.  It  don't  seem  to  be 
a  time  to  afford  gloves  and  shoes  and  flowers.  And  then 
there  '11  be  the  carriage,  too." 


FAITH  GARTNET'S  GIRLHOOD.  9 

"  Oh  dear!"  sighed  Faith,  in  the  tone  of  one  who  felt 
herself  checkmated.  "  I  wish  I  knew  what  we  really  could 
afford !  It  always  seems  to  be  these  little  things  that  don't 
cost  much,  and  that  other  girls,  whose  fathers  are  not  nearly 
so  well  off,  always  have,  without  thinking  anything  about 
it"  And  she  glanced  over  the  table,  whereon  shone  a  silver 
coffee-service,  and  up  at  the  mantel  where  stood  a  French 
clock  that  had  been  placed  there  a  month  before. 

"  Pull  at  the  bobbin  and  the  latch  will  fly  up."  An  un 
spoken  suggestion,  of  drift  akin  to  this,  flitted  through  the 
mind  of  Faith.  She  wondered  if  her  father  knew  that  this 
was  a  Signal  Street  invitation. 

M  r.  Gartney  was  ambitious  for  his  children,  and  solicitous 
for  their  place  in  society. 

But  Faith  had  a  touch  of  high-mindedness  about  her  that 
made  it  impossible  for  her  to  pull  bobbins. 

So,  when  her  father  presently,  with  hat  and  coat  on,  came 
into  the  room  again  for  a  moment,  before  going  out  for  the 
day,  she  sat  quite  silent,  with  her  foot  upon  the  fender,  look 
ing  into  the  fire. 

Something  in  her  face  howev-er,  quite  unconsciously, 
bespoke  that  the  world  did  not  lie  entirely  straight  before 
her,  and  this  catching  her  father's  eye,  brought  up  to  him, 
by  an  untraceable  association,  the  half  proffered  request  of 
his  wife. 

"  So  you  haven't  any  shoes,  Faithie.     Is  that  it?" 

"  None  nice  enough  for  a  party,  father." 

"  And  the  party  is  a  vital  necessity,  I  suppose.  AVhere 
is  it  to  be  ?  " 

The  latch-string  was  put  forth,  and  while  Faith  still  stayed 
her  hand,  her  mother,  absolved  from  selfish  end,  was  fain  to 
tatch  it  up. 


10         FAITH  GARTNEY 'S  GIRLHOOD. 

"At  the  Kushleighs'.  The  Old  Year  out  and  the  New 
Year  in." 

"  Oh,  well,  we  mustn't  ' let  the  colt  go  bare,' "  answered 
Mr.  Gartney,  pleasantly,  portmonnaie  in  hand.  "  But  you 
must  make  that  do."  He  handed  her  five  dollars.  "  Aiid 
take  good  care  of  your  things  when  you  have  got  them,  for 
I  don't  pick  up  many  five  dollars  now-a-days." 

And  the  old  look  of  care  crept  up,  replacing  the  kindly 
smile,  as  he  turned  and  left  the  room. 

"  I  feel  very  much  as  if  I  had  picked  my  father's  pocket," 
said  Faith,  holding  the  bank-note,  half  ashamedly,  in  her 
hand. 

Henderson  Gartney,  Esquire,  was  a  man  of  no  method  in 
his  expenditure.  When  money  chanced  to  be  plenty  with 
him  it  was  very  apt  to  go  as  might  happen  —  for  French 
clocks,  or  whatsoever ;  and  then,  suddenly,  the  silver  paper 
fell  short  elsewhere,  and  lo !  a  corner  was  left  uncovered. 

The  horse  and  the  mare  were  shod.  Great  expenses  were 
incurred ;  money  was  found,  somehow,  for  grand  outlays ; 
but  the  comfort  of  buying,  with  a  readiness,  the-- little 
needed  matters  of  every  day,  —  this  was  foregone.  "Not 
let  the  colt  go  bare ! "  It  was  precisely  the  thing  he  was 
continually  doing. 

Mrs.  Gartney  had  long  found  it  to  be  her  only  wise  way 
to  make  her  hay  while  the  sun  was  shining,  —  to  buy,  when 
she  could  buy,  what  she  was  sure  would  be  most  wanted,— 
and  to  look  forward  as  far  as  possible,  in  her  provisions, 
since  her  husband  scarcely  seemed  to  look  forward  at  all. 

So  she  exemplified,  over  and  over  again  in  her  life,  the 
story  of  Pharaoh  and  his  fat  and  lean  kine. 

That  night,  Faith,  her  little  purchases  and  arrangements 
all  complete,  and  flowers  and  carriage  bespoken  for  the  next 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.         11 

evening,  went  to  bed  to  dream  such  dreams  as  only  come  to 
the  sleep  of  early  years. 

At  the  same  time,  lingering  by  the  fireside  below  for  a 
half  hour's  unreserved  conversation,  Mr.  Gartney  was  tell 
ing  his  wife  of  another  money  disappointment 

"  Blacklow,  at  Cross  Corners,  gives  up  the  lease  of  the 
house  in  the  spring.  He  writes  me  he  is  going  out  to  Indi 
ana  with  his  son-in-law.  I  don't  know  where  I  shall  find 
another  such  tenant,  —  or  any  at  all,  for  that  matter." 


CHAPTER  n. 

SOKTES. 

"  How  shall  I  know  if  I  do  choose  the  right  ? ' 

"  Since  this  fortune  falls  to  you, 
Be  content,  and  seek  no  new." 

MERCHANT  OF 

"  Now,  Mahala  Harris,"  said  Faith,  as  she  glanced  in  at 
the  nursery  door,  which  opened  from  her  room,  "  don't  let 
Hendie  get  up  a  French  Revolution  here  while  I  'm  gone  to 
dinner." 

"  Land  sakes !  Miss  Faith !  I  don't  know  what  you  mean, 
nor  whether  I  can  help  it.  I  dare  say  he  'd  get  up  a  Revo 
lution  of  76,  over  again,  if  hu  once  set  out  He  does  train 
like  'lection,  fact,  sometimes." 

"  "Well,  don't  let  him  build  barricades  with  all  the  chaiis, 
so  that  I  shall  have  to  demolish  my  way  back  again.  I  'm 
going  to  lay  out  my  dress  for  to-night." 

And  very  little  dinner  could  her  young  appetite  manage 
on  this  last  day  of  the  year.  All  her  vital  energy  was  busy 
ia  her  anticipative  brain,  and  glancing  thence  in  sparkles 
from  her  eyes,  and  quivering  down  in  swift  currents  to  hei 
restless  little  feet.  It  mattered  little  that  there  was  deli 
cious  roast  beef  smoking  on  the  table,  and  Christmas- 
pies  were  arrayed  upon  the  sideboard,  while  up  stairs  the 
bright  ribbon  and  tiny,  shining,  old-farhioned  buckles  were 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.         13 

waiting  to  be  shaped  into  rosettes  for  the  new  slippers,  aud 
the  lace  hung,  half  basted,  from  the  neck  of  the  simple  but 
delicate  silk  dress,  and  those  lovely  green-house  flowera 
stood  in  a  glass  dish  on  her  dressing-table,  to  be  sorted  for 
her  hair,  and  into  a  graceful  breast-knot.  No, — dinner  was 
a  very  secondary  and  contemptible  affair,  compared  with 
these. 

Ah,  if  people  could  only  hold  out  to  live,  all  the  rest  of 
their  days,  on  perfume  and  beauty  and  grace  and  dreamy 
delights,  —  that  seem,  in  the  charmed  vision  of  youth,  the 
essential  verities  of  life,  —  how  the  worry  and  care  of  break 
fasts  and  dinners  and  butchers'  and  grocers'  bills  and  the 
trouble  of  servants  should  be  gloriously  done  away  with ! 
To-night,  Faith's  eyes  shine,  and  her  cheek  glows  with  the 
mere  joy  of  life  and  loveliness ;  but,  to-morrow,  she  will  be 
hungry  like  any  other  mortal ;  and  there  must  be  chickens, 
or  beefsteak,  or  oven  coarser  mutton  or  pork,  to  feed  the  very 
roses  ttat  flush  and  crown  her  girlish  beauty.  We  don't 
live  straight  from  the  spirit  impulse  yet ! 

There  were  few  forms  or  faces,  truly,  that  were  pleasanter 
to  look  upon  in  the  group  that  stood,  disrobed  of  their  care 
ful  outer  wrappings,  in  Mrs.  Eushlcigh's  dressing-room ; 
their  hurried  chat  and  gladsome  greetings  distracted  with 
the  drawing  on  of  gloves  and  the  last  adjustment  of  shining 
locks,  while  the  bewildering  music  was  floating  up  from  be 
low,  mingled  with  the  hum  of  voices  from  the  rooms  where, 
as  children  say,  "  the  party  had  begun  "  already. 

And  Mrs.  llushleigh,  when  Faith  paid  her  timid  respects 
iu  the  drawing-room  at  last,  made  her  welcome  with  a  pecu 
liar  grace  and  empressement  that  had  their  own  flattering 
weight  and  charm ;  for  the  lady  was  a  sort  of  St.  Peter  of 
fashion,  holding  its  mystic  keys,  and  admitting  or  rejecting 

2 


14         FAITH  GARTNET'S  GIRLHOOD. 

whom  she  would ;  and  culled,  with  marvellous  tact  and  taste, 
the  flower  of  the  upgrowing  world  of  Mishaumok  to  adorn 
"  bir  set." 

After  which,  Faith,  claimed  at  once  by  an  eager  aspirant, 
and  beset  with  many  a  following  introductioa  and  petition, 
was  drawn  to  and  kept  in  the  joyous  whirlpool  of  the  dance, 
till  she  had  breathed  in  enough  of  delight  and  excitement 
to  carry  her  quite  beyond  the  thought  even  of  ices  and  oys 
ters  and  jellies  and  fruits,  and  the  score  of  unnamable 
luxuries  whereto  the  young  revellers  were  duly  summoned 
at  half  past  ten  o'clock. 

Four  days'  anticipation,  — four  hours'  realization,  —  cul 
minated  in  the  glorious  after-supper  midnight  dance,  when, 
marshalled  hither  and  thither  by  the  ingenious  orders  of  the 
band,  the  jubilant  company  found  itself,  just  on  the  impend 
ing  stroke  of  twelve,  drawn  out  around  the  room  in  one  great 
circle  ;  and  suddenly  a  hush  of  the  music,  at  the  very  poising 
instant  of  time,  left  them  motionless  for  a  moment  to  burst 
out  again  in  the  age-honored  and  heart-wanning  strains 
of  "  Auld  Lang  Syne."  Hand  joining  hand  they  sang  its 
chorus,  and  when  the  last  note  had  lingeringly  died  away, 
one  after  another  gently  broke  from  their  places,  and  the 
momentary  figure  melted  out  with  the  dying  of  the  Year, 
never  again  to  be  just  so  combined.  It  was  gone,  as  van 
ishes  also  every  other  phase  and  grouping  in  the  kaleido 
scope  of  Time. 

"  Now  is  the  very  '  witching  hour'  to  try  the  Sortes!  " 

Margaret  Eushleigh  said  this,  standing  on  the  threshold 
of  a  little  inner  apartment  that  opened  from  the  long  draw 
ing-room,  at  one  end ;  and  speaking  to  those  nearest  her  in 
the  scattered  groups  that  had  hardly  ceased  bandying  back 
\nd  forth  their  tumultuous  "  Happy  New  Years." 


GAXTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.         15 


She  held  in  her  hand  a  large  and  beautiful  volume,  —  a 
gift  of  Christmas  day. 

"  Here  are  Fates  for  everybody  who  cares  to  find  them 
out  !  " 

The  book  was  a  collection  of  poetical  quotations,  arranged 
by  numbers,  and  to  be  chosen  thereby,  and  the  chance  appli 
cation  taken  as  an  oracle. 

Everything  like  fortune-telling,  or  a  possible  peering  into 
the  things  of  coming  time,  has  such  a  charm  !  Especially 
with  them  to  whom  the  past  is  but  a  prelude  and  beginning, 
and  for  whom  the  great,  voluminous  Future  holds  enwrap 
ped  the  whole  mystic  Story  of  Life  ! 

"  No,  no,  this  won't  do  !  "  cried  the  young  lady,  as  circle 
behind  circle  closed  and  crowded  eagerly  about  her.  "  Fate 
don't  give  out  her  revelations  in  such  wholesale  fashion. 
You  must  come  up  with  proper  reverence,  one  by  one." 

As  she  spoke,  she  withdrew  a  little  within  the  curtained 
archway,  and,  placing  the  crimson-covered  book  of  destiny 
upon  an  inlaid  table,  brought  forward  a  piano-stool,  and 
seated  herself  thereon,  as  a  priestess  upon  a  tripod. 

A  little  shyly,  one  after  another,  gaining  knowledge  of 
what  was  going  on,  the  company  strayed  in  from  without, 
and,  each  in  turn  hazarding  a  number,  received  in  answer 
the  rhyme  or  stanza  indicated  ;  and  who  shall  say  how  long 
those  chance-directed  words,  chosen  for  the  most  part  with 
the  elastic  ambiguity  of  all  oracles  of  any  established  au 
thority,  lirgered  echoing  in  the  heads  and  hearts  of  them 
to  whom  tbey  were  given,  —  shaping  and  confirming,  or 
darkening  with  their  denial  raapv  an  after  hope  and  fear? 

One  only,  of  them  all,  h?3  a«  interest  for  us  that  needs  <» 
record. 

Faith  Grartnty  came  up  anong  the  very  Isst 


16         FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

"How  many  numbers  are  thereto  choose  from?"  she 
asked, 

"  Three  hundred  and  sixty-five.  The  number  of  days  in 
the  year." 

"  Well,  then,  I  '11  take  the  number  of  the  day  ;  the  last, 
—  no,  I  forgot,  —  the  first  of  all." 

Nobody  before  had  chosen  this,  and  Margaret  read,  in  a 
clear,  gentle  voice,  not  untouched  with  the  grave  beauty  of 
its  own  words,  and  the  sweet,  earnest,  listening  look  of  the 
young  face  that  bent  toward  her  to  take  them  in,  — 


•'  Bouse  to  some  high  and  holy  work  of  love, 

And  thou  an  angel's  happiness  shalt  know ; 
Shalt  bless  the  earth  while  iii  the  world  above ; 
The  good  begun  by  thee  while  here  below 
Shall  like  a  river  run,  and  broader  flow." 


Ten  minutes  later,  and  all  else  were  absorbed  in  other 
things  again, —  leave-takings,  parting  chat,  and  a  few  waltz 
ing  a  last  measure  to  a  specially-accorded  grace  of  music. 
Faith  stood,  thoughtfully,  by  the  table  where  the  book  was 
closed  and  left.  She  quietly  reopened  it  at  that  first  page 
Unconscious  of  a  step  behind  her,  her  eyes  ran  over  the  lines 
again,  to  make  their  beautiful  words  her  own. 

"  And  that  was  your  oracle,  then '?  "  asked  a  kindly  voice. 

Glancing  quickly  up,  while  the  timid  color  flushed  her 
cheek,  she  met  a  look  as  of  a  wise  and  watchful  angel, 
though  it  came  through  the  .eye  and  smile  of  a  gray-haired 
man,  who  laid  his  hand  upon  the  page  as  he  said,  — 

"  Remember,  —  it  is  conditional" 


CHAPTER  III. 

ATTNT    HENDERSON. 

u  I  never  met  a  manner  more  entirely  without  frill." 

SYDNEY  SMI-IS. 

LATE  into  the  morning  of  the  New  Year,  Faith  slept. 
Through  her  half  consciousness  crept,  at  last,  a  feeling  of 
music  that  had  been  wandering  in  faint  echoes  among  the 
chambers  of  her  brain  all  those  hours  of  her  suspended 
life,  and  were  the  first  sensations  to  stir  there,  when  that 
mysterious  Life  flashed  back  along  its  channels,  and  brought 
a  light  more  subtle  than  the  mere  sunshine  that  through  the 
easterly  windows  was  flooding  all  her  room  with  its  silent 
arousal. 

Light,  and  music,  and  a  sense  of  an  unexamined,  half- 
remembered  joy,  filled  her  being  and  embraced  her  at  her 
waking  on  this  New  Year's  Day.  A  moment  she  lay  in  a 
passive,  unthinking  delight ;  and  then  her  first,  full,  and 
distinct  thought  shaped  itself,  as  from  a  sweet  and  solemn 
memory,  — 

"  Rouse  to  some  high  and  holy  work  of  love, 
And  thou  an  angel's  happiness  shall  know." 

An  impulse    of  lofty  feeling  held    her   in    its  ecstasy;  a 
uoble   longing  and   determination   shaped    itself,    though 
2* 


18         FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

vaguely,  within  her.  For  a  little,  she  was  touched  in  her 
deepest  and  truest  nature ;  she  was  uplifted  to  the  threshold 
of  a  great  resolve.  But  generalities  are  so  grand,  —  details 
so  commonplace  and  unsatisfying.  What  should  she  do? 
What  "  high  and  holy  work  "  lay  waiting  for  her? 

And,  breaking  in  upon  her  reverie,  —  bringing  her  down 
with  its  rough  and  common  call  to  common  duty.  —  th«. 
second  bell  for  breakfast  rang. 

"Oh,  dear!  It  is  no  use!  Who'll  know  what  great 
things  1  've  been  wishing  and  planning,  when  I  've  nothing 
to  show  for  it  but  just  being  late  to  breakfast?  And  fathei 
hates  it  so,  —  and  New  fear's  morning,  too !  " 

Hurrying  her  toilet,  she  repaired,  with  all  the  haste 
possible,  to  the  breakfast-room,  where  her  consciousness 
of  shortcoming  was  in  nowise  lessened  when  she  saw  who 
occupied  the  seat  at  her  fathers  right  hand,  —  Acnt  Hen 
derson  ! 

Aunt  Faith  Henderson,  who  had  reached  her  nephew's 
house  last  evening  just  after  the  young  Faith,  her  name 
sake,  had  gone  joyously  off  to  "  dance  the  Old  Year  out 
and  the  New  Year  in."  Old-fashioned  Aunt  Faith,  — who 
believed  most  devoutly  that  "  early  to  bed  and  early  to 
rise"  was  the  only  way  to  be  "  healthy,  wealthy,  or  wise !" 
Aunt  Faith,  who  had  never  quite  forgiven  our  young  heroine 
for  having  said,  at  the  discreet  and  positive  age  of  nine, 
that "  she  did  n't  see  what  her  father  and  mother  had  called 
her  such  an  ugly  name  for.  It  was  a  real  old-maid's  name !  " 
Whereupon,  having  asked  the  child  what  she  would  have 
preferred  as  a  substitute,  and  being  answered,  "  Well,  — 
Clotilda,  I  guess;  or  Cleopatra."  —  Mi3S  Henderson  had 
told  her  that  she  was  quite  welcome  to  change  it  for  any 
heathen  woman's  that  she  pleased,  and  t-he  worse  behaved 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.         19 

perhaps  the  better.  She  would  n't  be  so  likely  to  do  it  any 
discredit ! 

Aunt  Henderson  had  a  downright  and  rather  extreme 
fashion  of  putting  things ;  nevertheless,  in  her  heart  she 
was  not  unkindly. 

So  when  Faithie,  with  her  fair,  fresh  face, — a  little 
apprehensive  troulle  in  it  for  her  tardiness, — came  in, 
there  was  a  gn.m  l/euding  of  the  old  lady's  brows;  but, 
below,  a  half-belying  twinkle  in  the  eye,  that,  long  as  it 
had  looked  out  sharply  and  keenly  on  the  things  and  people 
of  this  mixed-up  world,  found  yet  a  pleasure  in  anything 
so  young  and  bright. 

"Why,  auntie!  How  do  you  do?"  cried  Faith,  cun 
ning  culprit  that  she  was,  taking  the  "  bull  by  the  horns," 
and  holding  out  her  hand.  "  I  wish  you  a  Happy  New 
Year !  Good  morning,  father,  and  mother !  A  Happy  New 
Year!  I  'm  sorry  I  'm  so  late." 

"  Wish  you  a  great  many,"  responded  the  great-aunt,  in 
stereotyped  phrase.  "  It  seems  to  me,  though,  you  've  lost 
the  beginning  of  this  one." 

"Oh,  no!"  replied  Faithie,  gayly.  "I  had  that  at  the 
party.  We  danced  the  New  Year  in." 

"  Humph ! "  said  Aunt  Henderson. 

Breakfast  over,  and  Mr.  Gartney  gone  to  his  counting- 
room,  the  parlor-girl  made  her  appearance  with  her  mop 
and  tub  of  hot  water,  to  wash  up  the  silver  and  china. 

"  Give  me  that,"  said  Aunt  Henderson,  taking  a  large 
towel  from  the  girl's  arm  as  she  set  down  her  tub  upon  the 
Bideboard.  "  You  go  and  find  something  else  to  do." 

Wherever  she  might  be,  —  to  be  sure,  her  round  of  visit- 
vng  was  not  a  large  one,  —  Aunt  Henderson  never  let  any 
one  else  wash  up  breakfast-cups. 


20         FAITH  GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

This  quiet  arming  of  herself,  with  mop  and  towel,  stir 
red  up  everybody  else  to  duty.  Her  niece-in-law  laughed, 
withdrew  her  feet  from  the  comfortable  fender,  and  depart 
ed  to  the  kitchen  to  give  her  household  orders  for  the  day. 
Faith  removed  cups,  glasses,  forks,  and  spoons  from  the 
table  to  the  sideboard,  while  the  maid,  returning  with  a 
traj,  carried  off  to  the  lower  regions  the  larger  dishes,  and 
the  remnants  of  the  meal. 

"  I  have  n't  told  you  yet,  Elizabeth,  what  I  came  to 
town  for,"  said  Aunt  Faith,  when  Mrs.  Gartney  came 
back  into  the  breakfast- room.  "  I  'm  going  to  hunt,  up  a 
girl." 

"  A  girl,  aunt !     Why,  what  has  become  of  Prudence?  " 

"  Mrs.  Pelatiah  Trowe.  That 's  what 's  become  of  her. 
More  fool  she." 

"  But  why  in  the  world  do  you  come  to  the  city  for  a 
servant?  It's  the  worst  possible  place.  Nineteen  out  of 
twenty  are  utterly  good  for  nothing." 

"  I  'm  going  to  look  out  for  the  twentieth." 

"  But  are  n't  there  girls  enough  in  Kinnicutt  who  would 
be  glad  to  step  into  Prue's  place  ?  "^ 

' '  Of  course  there  are.  Plenty.  But  they  're  all  well  enough 
off  where  they  are.  When  I  have  a  chance  to  give  away,  I 
want  to  give  it  to  somebody  that  needs  it." 

"  I  'm  afraid  you  '11  hardly  find  any  efficient  girl  who 
will  appreciate  the  chance  of  going  twenty  miles  into  the 
country." 

"  I  don't  want  an  efficient  girl.  I  'm  efficient  myself,  and 
that 's  enough." 

"Going  to  train  another,  at  your  time  of  life,  aunt?" 
asked  Mrs.  Gartney,  in  surprise.' 

"  I  suppose  1  must  either  train  a  girl,  or  let  her  train 


FAITH  GARTNET'S  GIRLHOOD.         21 

me ;  and,  at  my  time  of  life,  I  don't  feel  to  stand  in  need 
of  that" 

"How  shall  I  go  to  work  to  inquire?"  resumed  Aunt 
Henderson,  after  a  pause. 

"  Well,  there  are  the  Homes,  and  the  Offices,  and  the 
Ministers  at  Large.  At  a  Home,  they  would  probably  rec 
ommend  you  somebody  they've  made  up  their  minds  to 
put  out  to  service,  and  she  might  or  might  not  be  such  an 
one  as  would  suit  you.  Then  at  the  Offices,  you  '11  see  all 
sorts,  and  mostly  poor  ones." 

"I'll  try  an  Office,  first,"  interrupted  Miss  Henderson. 
"  I  want  to  see  all  sorts.  Faith,  you  '11  go  with  me,  by-and- 
by,  won't  you,  and  help  me  find  the  way .?  " 

Faith,  seated  at  a  little  writing- table  at  the  farther  end 
of  the  room,  busied  in  Copying  into  her  album,  in  a  clear, 
neat,  but  rather  stiff  school-girl's  hand,  the  oracle  of  the 
night  before,  did  not  at  once  notice  that  she  was  addressed. 

"  Faith,  child!  don't  you  hear?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  aunt     What  is  it?  " 

"  I  want  you  to  go  to  a  what-d'ye-call-it  office  with  me, 
to-day." 

"An  intelligence  office,"  explained  her  mother.  "Aunt 
Faith  wants  to  find  a  girl." 

"  '  Lucus  a  non  hicendo,' "  quoted  Faith,  rather  wittily, 
from  her  little  stock  of  Latin.  "  Stupidity  offices,  /should 
call  them,  from  the  specimens  they  send  out." 

"Hold  your  tongue,  chit!  Don't  talk  Latin  to  me!" 
growled  Aunt  Henderson. 

"What  are  you  writing?"  she  asked,  shortly  after,  when 
Mrs.  Gartney  had  again  left  her  and  Faith  to  each  other. 
••  Letters,  or  Latin  ?  " 

Faith  colored,  and  laughed. 


22         FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

"  Only  a  fortune  that  was  told  me  last  night,"  she  replied. 

•'  Oh !  'A  little  husbaiid,'  -I  suppose,  '  no  bigger  than 
my  thumb  ;  put  him  in  a  pint  po.t,  and  there  bid  him  drum.'  " 

"  No,"  said  Faith,  half  seriously,  and  half  teased  out  of 
her  seriousness.  "It's  nothing  of  that  sort.  At  least," 
she  added,  glancing  over  the  lines  again,  "  I  don't  think  it 
means  anything  like  that." 

And  Faith  laid  down  the  book,  and  went  up  stairs  for  a 
word  with  her  mother. 

Aunt  Henderson,  who  had  been  brought  up  in  times  when 
all  the  doings  of  young  girls  were  strictly  supervised,  and 
who  had  no  high-flown  scruples,  because  she  had  no  mean 
motives,  deliberately  walked  over  and  fetched  the  elegant 
little  volume  from  the  table,  reseated  herself  in  her  arm 
chair,  —  felt  for  her  glasses,  and  set  them  carefully  upon 
her  nose, — and,  as  her  grand-niece  returned,  was  just  finish 
ing  her  perusal  of  the  freshly-inscribed  lines. 

"  Humph !  A  good  fortune.  Only  you  've  got  to  earn 
it." 

"  Yes,"  said  Faith,  quite  gravely.  "  And  I  don't  see 
how.  There  don't  seem  to  be  much  that  I  can  do." 

"  Just  take  hold  of  the  first  thing  that  comes  in  your 
way.  If  the  Lord 's  got  anything  bigger  to  give  you,  he  '11 
see  to  it.  There  's  your  mother's  mending-basket  brimful 
of  stockings." 

Faith  couldn't  help  laughing.  Presently  she  grew  grave 
again. 

"  Aunt  Henderson,"  said  she,  abruptly,  "  I  wish  some 
thing  would  happen  to  me.  I  get  tired  of  living  sometimes. 
Things  don't  seem  worth  while." 

Aunt  Henderson  bent  her  head  slightly,  and  opened  her 
eyes  wide  over  the  tops  of  her  glasses. 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.         23 

"  Don't  say  that  again,"  said  she.  "  Things  happen  fast 
enough.  Don't  you  dare  to  tempt  Providence." 

"  Providence  won't  be  tempted,  nor  misunderstand,"  re 
plied  Faith,  an  undertone  of  reverence  qualifying  her  girlish 
repartee.  "  He  knows  just  what  I  mean." 

"  She's  a  queer  child."  said  Aunt,  Faith  to  herself,  aftei- 
wards,  thinking  over  the  oriel  conversation.  "  She  '11  be 
something  or  nothing,  I  always  said.  I  used  to  think 't  would 
b*>  nothing." 


CHAPTER   JV. 

GLORY     MCWHIRK. 

There 's  beauty  waiting  to  be  born, 
And  harmony  that  makes  no  sound  ; 

And  bear  we  ever,  unawares, 
A  glory  that  hath  not  been  crowned. 

SHALL  I  try  to  give  you  a  glimpse  of  quite  another 
young  life  than  Faith  G-artney's?  One  looking  also  vaguely, 
wonderingly,  for  "  something  to  happen,"  —  that  indefinite 
"  something  "  which  lies  in  everybody's  future,  which  may 
never  arrive,  and  yet  which  any  hour  may  bring  ? 

Very  little  likelihood  there  has  ever  seemed  for  any 
great  joy  to  get  into  such  a  life  as  this  has  been,  that  began, 
or  at  least  has  its  earliest  memory  and  association,  in  the 
old  poor-house  at  Stonebury. 

A  child  she  was,  of  five  years,  when  she  was  taken  in  there 
with  her  old,  crippled  grandmother. 

Peter  McWhirk  was  picked  up  dead,  from  the  gravelled 
drive  of  a  gentleman's  place,  where  he  had  been  trimming 
the  high  trees  that  shaded  it  An  unsound  limb  —  a  heed 
less  movement  —  and  Peter  went  straight  down,  thirty  feet, 
and  out  of  life.  Out  of  life,  where  he  had  a  trim,  comfort 
able  young  wife,  —  one  happy  little  child,  for  whom  skies 
were  as  blue,  and  grass  as  green,  and  buttercups  as  golden 
as  for  the  little  heiress  of  Elm  Hill,  who  was  riding  over 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.         25 

• 

the  lawn  in  her  basket-wagon,  when  Petec  met  his  death 
there,  — the  hope,  also,  of  another  that  was  to  come. 

Rosa  McWhirk  and  her  baby  of  a  day  old  were  buried 
Ihc  week  after,  together ;  and  then  there  was  nothing  left 
for  Olory  and  her  helpless  grandmother  but  the  poor-house 
as  a  present  refuge ;  and  to  the  one  death,  that  ends  all. 
and  to  the  other  a  life  of  rough  and  unremitting  work  to 
look  to  for  by-and-by. 

When  Glory  came  into  this  world  where  wants  begin  with 
the  first  breath,  and  go  on  thickening  around  us,  and  press 
ing  upon  us  until  the  last  one  is  supplied  to  us  —  a  grave 
—  shs  wanted,  first  of  all,  -a  name. 

"  Sure  what '11  I  call  the  baby?"  said  the  proud  young 
mother  to  the  ladies  from  the  white  corner  house,  where 
she  had  served  four  faithful  years  of  her  maidenhood,  and 
who  came  down  at  once  with  comforts  and  congratulations. 
"  They  've  sint  for  the  praist,  an'  I  've  niver  bethought  of  a 
name.  I  made  so  certain  't  would  be  a  boy  ! " 

"  What  a  funny  bit  of  a  thing  it  is  !  "  cried  the  younger 
of  the  two  visitors,  turning  back  the  bed-clothes  a  little  from 
the  tiny,  red,  puckered  face,  with  short,  sandy-colored  hair 
standing  up  about  the  temples  like  a  fuzz-ball. 

"  I  'd  call  her  Glory.  There 's  a  halo  round  her  head  like 
the  saints  in  the  pictures." 

"  Sure,  that's  jist  like  yersilf,  Miss  Mattie  !  "  exclaimed 
Rosa,  with  a  faint,  merry  little  laugh.  "  An'  quare  enough. 
[  knew  a  lady  once't  of  the  very  name,  in  the  ouldcountiy. 
Miss  Gloriana  O'Dowd  she  was  ;  an'  the  beauty  o'  County 
Kerry.  My  Lady  Kinawley,  she  came  to  be.  'Deed,  but 
I  'd  like  to  do  it,  for  the  ould  times,  an'  for  you  thinkin'  of 
it !  I  '11  ask  Peter,  anyhow !  " 

And  so  Glory  got  her  name  ;  and  Mattie  Hyde,  who  gave 


26         FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

• 

her  that,  gave  her  many  another  thing  that  was  no  less  a 
giving  to  the  mother  also,  before  she  was  two  years  old 
Then  Mrs.  Hyde  and  the  young  lady,  having  first  let  the 
corner  house,  went  away  to  Europe  to  stay  for  years ;  and 
when  a  box  of  tokens  from  the  far,  foreign  lands  came  back 
to  Stonebury  awhile  after,  there  was  a  grand  shawl  for 
Rosa,  and  a  pretty  braided  frock  for  the  baby,  and  a  rosary 
that  Glory  keeps  to  this  hour,  that  had  been  blessed  by  the 
Pope.  That  was  the  last.  Mattie  and  her  mother  sailed 
out  upon  the  Mediterranean  one  day  from  the  bright  coast 
of  France  for  a  far  eastern  port,  to  see  the  Holy  Land. 
God's  Holy  Land  they  did  see,  though  they  never  touched 
those  Syrian  shores,  or  climbed  the  hills  about  Jerusalem. 

Glory  remembered,  —  for  the  most  part  dimly,  for  some 
special  points  distinctly,  —  her  child-life  of  three  years  in 
Stonebury  poor-house.  How  her  grandmother  and  an  old 
countrywoman  from  the  same  county  "  at  home  "  sat  knit 
ting  and  crooning  together  in  a  sunny  corner  of  the  common 
room  in  winter,  or  out  under  the  stoop  in  summer  ;  how  she 
rolled  down  the  green  bank  behind  the  house ;  and,  when 
she  grew  big  enough  to  be  trusted  with  a  knife,  was  sent  out 
to  dig  dandelions  in  the  spring,  and  how  an  older  girl  went 
with  her  round  the  village,  and  sold  them  from  house  to 
house.  How,  at  last,  her  old  grandmother  died,  and  was 
buried  ;  and  how  a  woman  of  the  village,  who  had  used  to 
buy  her  dandelions,  found  a  place  for  her  with  a  relative 
of  her  own,  in  the  ten-mile  distant  city,  who  took  Glory  to 
"bring  up,"  —  "seeing,"  as  she  said,  "there  was  nobody 
belonging  to  her  to  interfere." 

"Was  there  a  day,  after  that,  that  did  not  leave  its  searing 
impress  upon  heart  and  memory,  of  the  life  that  was  given, 
in  its  every  young  pulse  and  breath,  to  sordid  toil  for  others, 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.         27 

and  to  which  it  seemed  nobody  on  earth  owed  aught  of  care 
or  service  in  return  ? 

Clothed  and  fed,  to  be  sure,  she  was  ;  that  is,  she  neither 
starved,  nor  went  naked  ;  but  she  was  barely  covered  and 
nourished  as  she  must  be,  —  as  any  beast  of  burden  must 
be,  —  to  do  its  owner's  work. 

It  was  a  close  little  house,  —  one  of  those  houses  where 
they  have  fried  dinners  so  often  that  the  smell  never  get? 
out,  —  in  Budd  Street,  —  a  street  of  a  single  side,  wedged 
in  between  the  back  yards  of  more  pretentious  mansions  that 
stood  on  fair  parallel  avenues  sloping  down  from  a  hill-toy 
to  the  water-side,  that  Mrs.  Grabbling  lived. 

Here  Glory  McWhirk,  from  eight  years  old  to  nearly 
fifteen,  scoured  knives  and  brasses,  tended  door-bell  set  ta 
bles,  washed  dishes,  and  minded  the  baby ;  whom,  at  her 
peril,  she  must  "keep  pacified,"  —  i.  e.,  amused  and  content, 
while  its  mother  was  otherwise  busy.  For  her,  poor  child, 
—  baby  that  she  still,  almost,  was  herself,  —  who  amused, 
or  contented  her  ?  There  are  humans  with  whom  amusement 
and  content  have  nothing  to  do.  What  will  you  ?  The 
world  must  go  on. 

Glory  curled  the  baby's  hair,  and  made  him  "look  pret 
ty."  Mrs.  Grubbling  cut  her  little  handmaid's  short  to  sav» 
trouble ;  so  that  the  very  determined  yellow  locks  which: 
under  more  favoring  circumstances  of  place  and  fortune, 
might  have  been  trained  into  lovely  golden  curls  like  the 
child's  who  lived  in  the  tall  house  opposite  the  Grubblings' 
door,  and  who  came,  sometimes,  to  the  long  back-parlor 
windows,  and  unconsciously  shone  into  poor,  unknown 
Glory's  life,  who  watched  for  her  as  for  a  vision,  —  these 
locks,  I  say,  stood  up  continually  in  their  restless  reaching 
after  the  fairer  destiny  that  had  been  mean*  for  them,  in 


28         FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

the  old  fuzz-ball  fashion ;  and  Glory  grew  more  and  more  to 
justify  her  name. 

Do  you  think  she  did  n't  know  what  beauty  was,  —  this 
child  who  never  had  a  new  or  pretty  garment,  but  who  wore 
frocks  "  fadged  up  "  out  of  old,  faded  breadths  of  her  mis 
tress's  dresses,  and  bonnets  with  brims  cut  off  and  top 
knots  taken  down,  and  coarse  shoes,  and  stockings  cut  out 
of  the  legs  of  those  whereof  Mrs.  Grubbling  had  worn  out 
the  extremities?  Do  you  think  she  didn't  feel  the  differ 
ence,  and  that  it  was  n't  this  that  made  her  shuffle  along 
so  with  her  toes  in,  when  she  sped  along  the  streets  upon 
her  manifold  errands,  and  met  gentle-people's  children 
laughing  and  dancing  and  skipping  their  hoops  upon  the 
sidewalks  ? 

I  tell  you  the  soul  shapes  to  itself  a  life,  whether  the 
outer  life  conform  to  it  or  not.  What  else  is  imagination 
given  for? 

Did  you  ever  think  how  strange  it  is  that  among  the 
millions  of  human  experiences,  —  out  of  all  the  numberless 
combinations  of  circumstance  and  incident  that  make  the 
different  lives  of  men  and  women,  —  now  unfolding  their 
shifting  webs  upon  this  earth,  you  yourself,  and  that  without 
voluntary  choice,  have  just  one,  perhaps  but  a  very  dull  and 
meagre  one,  allotted  you  ?  With  all  the  divine  capacity  you 
find  in  yourself  to  enter  into  and  comprehend  a  life  quite 
other  than  and  foreign  to  the  daily  reality  of  your  own,  and 
to  feel  how  it  would  be  to  you  if  it  might  become  tangible 
and  actual,  did  you  ever  question  why  it  is  that  you  are 
kept  out  of  it,  and  of  all  else  save  the  one  small  and  insuf 
ficient  history  ?  The  very  consciousness  of  such  capacity 
answers  you  why. 

"No  man  lives  to  himself." 


FAITH  GARTNEF'S  GIRLHOOD          29 

Out  of  all  lives,  actual  and  possible,  each  one  of  ua 
appropriates  continually  into  his  own.  This  is  a  world  ol 
hints  only,  out  of  which  every  soul  seizes  to  itself  what  it 
needs. 

This  girl,  uncherished,  repressed  in  every  natural  longing 
to  be  and  to  have,  took  in  all  the  more  of  what  was  possible ; 
for  God  had  given  her  this  glorious  insight,  this  imagina 
tion,  wherewith  we  fill  up  life's  scanty  outline,  and  grasp 
at  all  that  might  be,  or  that  elsewhere,  is.  In  her,  as  in  ua 
all,  it  was  often  —  nay,  daily  —  a  discontent ;  yet  a  noble 
discontent,  and  curbed  with  a  grand,  unconscious  patience. 
She  scoured  her  knives ;  she  shuffled  along  the  streets  on 
hasty  errands ;  she  went  up  and  down  the  house  in  her 
small  menial  duties  ;  she  put  on  f^nd  off  her  coarse,  repul 
sive  clothing ;  she  uttered  herself  in  her  common,  ignorant 
forms  of  speech ;  she  showed  orly  as  a  poor,  low,  little 
Irish  girl  with  red  hair  and  staring,  wondering  eyes,  and 
awkward  movements,  and  a  frightened  fashion  of  getting 
into  everybody's  way ;  and  yet,  behlcd  all  this,  there  was 
another  life  that  went  on  in  a  hidden  beauty  that  you  and 
I  cannot  fathom,  save  only  as  God  gives  the  like,  inwardly, 
to  ourselves. 

There  are  persons  who  have  an  "  impfi^i'uent  of  speech," 
so  that  the  thoughts  that  shape  themselves  in  the  brain  are 
smothered  there,  and  can  never  be  born  in  fitting  utterance. 
There  are  many  who  have  an  impediment  of  bte.  A  some 
thing  wanting — withheld  —  that  hinders  ihv  inner  exist 
ence  from  flowering  out  into  visible  fact  and  de^d.  Flowers 
it  not  somewhere?  Is  there  not  building  somewhere,  all 
the  while,  that  which  God  hath  reserved  for  them  <nn>  the 
foundation  of  the  world  ? 

"When  Glory's  mistress  cut  her  b^ir,  there  were  tlwave 
"  3* 


30         FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

tears  and  rebellion.  It  was  her  one,  eager,  passionate  long- 
ing,  in  those  childish  days,  that  these  locks  of  hers  should 
be  let  to  grow.  She  thought  she  could  almost  bear  anything 
else,  if  only  this  stiff,  unseemly  crop  might  lengthen  out 
into  waves  and  ringlets  that  should  toss  in  the  wind  like  the 
carefully  kempt  tresses  of  children  she  met  in  the  streets. 
She  imagined  it  would  be  a  complete  and  utter  happiness 
just  once  to  feel  it  falling  in  its  wealth  about  her  shoulders 
or  dropping  against  her  cheeks ;  and  to  be  able  to  look  at  it 
with  her  eyes,  and  twist  her  fingers  in  it  at  the  ends.  And 
so,  when  it  got  to  be  its  longest,  and  began  to  make  itself 
troublesome  about  her  forehead,  and  to  peep  below  her 
shabby  bonnet  in  her  neck,  she  had  a  brief  season  of  won 
derful  enjoyment  in  it.  Then  she  could  "  make  believe  "  it 
had  really  grown  out;  and  the  comfort  she  took  in  "going 
through  the  motions,"  —  pretending  to  tuck  behind  her  ears 
what  scarcely  touched  their  tips,  and  tossing  her  head  con 
tinually,  to  throw  back  imaginary  masses  of  curls,  was  truly 
indescribable,  and  such  as  I  could  not  begin  to  make  you 
understand. 

"Half-witted  monkey!"  Mrs.  Grubbling  would  ejacu 
late,  contemptuously,  seeing,  with  what  she  conceived  mar 
vellous  penetration,  the  half  of  her  little  servant's  thought, 
aud  so  pronouncing  from  her  own  half-wit  Then  the  great 
fehears  came  out,  and  the  instinct  of  grace  and  beauty  in  the 
child  was  pitilessly  outraged,  and  her  soul  mutilated,  aa 
it  were,  in  every  clip  of  the  inexorable  shears. 

Glory  lived  half  her  life  in  that  back  parlor  of  the  Pem- 
bertons.  The  little  golden-haired  vision  went  and  came ;  it 
•at  by  its  mother's  side  in  the  firelight,  before  the  curtains 
were  drawn  down  ;  it  had  a  party,  now  and  then,  of  other 
little  radiances  like  unto  itself:  and  Glory,  "  tending  baby  " 


FAITH  GARTNET'S  GIRLHOOD.         31 

in  Mrs.  Grubbling's  fusty  chamber,  watched  their  games 
through  the  long,  large-paned  windows,  and  reproduced 
them  next  day,  when  the  chores  were  done,  and  she  and 
baby  could  go  up  stairs  and  "  have  a  party ; "  bidding 
thereto,  on  his  solemn  promise  of  good  behavior,  "  Bubby," 
otherwise  Master  Herbert  Clarence  Grubbling ;  ranging, 
also,  six  chairs,  to  represent  or  to  accommodate  invisible 
"  company." 

And,  for  me,  I  can't  help  thinking  there  may  have  been 
company  there. 

She  was  always  glad  —  poor  Glory  —  when  the  spring 
time  came.  The  water  running  in  the  gutters ;  the  blades 
of  grass  and  tufts  of  chickweed  that  grew  under  the 
walls ;  the  soft,  damp  air  that  betokened  the  mollifying 
season,  —  these  touched  her  with  a  delight,  and  gave  her  a 
sense  of  joy  and  beauty  that  might  have  been  no  deeper  or 
keener  if  it  had  come  to  her  through  the  ministries  of  great 
rivers,  and  green  meadows,  and  all  the  wide  breeze  and  blue 
of  the  circling  sky. 

She  took  Bubby  and  Baby  down  to  the  Common,  of  a 
May-day,  to  see  the  processions  and  the  paper-crowned 
queens ;  and  stood  there  in  her  stained  and  drabbled  dress, 
with  the  big  year-and-a-half-old  baby  in  her  arms,  and  so 
quite  at  the  mercy  of  Master  Herbert  Clarence,  who  defi 
antly  skipped  off  down  the  avenues,  and  almost  out  of'  her 
sight,  —  she  looking  after  him  in  helpless  dismay,  lest  he 
should  get  a  splash  or  a  tumble,  or  be  altogether  lost; 
and  then  what  would  the  mistress  say  ?  Standing  there 
BO,  —  the  troops  of  children  in  their  holiday  trim  passing 
close  beside  her,  — her  young  heart  turned  bitter  for  a  mo 
ment,  as  it  sometimes  would;  and  her  one  utterance  of  all 
swelled  her  martyr-soul  broke  forth,  — 


32         FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

"  Laws  a  me !  Sech  lots  of  good  times  in  the  world,  and 
I  3-int  in  'em !  " 

And  then  she  meekly  turned  off  homeward,  lugging  the 
baby  in  her  arms,  who  peremptorily  declined  her  enticing 
suggestion  when  they  passed  the  Common  gates,  that  he 
should  get  down,  and  "go  patty,  patty,  on  the  sidewalk;" 
Master  Herbert,  who  had  in  the  midst  of  his  most  recklesa 
escapades  kept  one  eye  carefully  upon  her  movements,  racing 
after  her,  vociferating  that  he  would  "  go  right  and  tell  his 
ma  how  Glory  ran  away  from  him  " 

Yet,  that  afternoon,  when  Mrs.  Grubbling  went  out 
shopping,  and  left  her  to  her  own  devices  with  the  chil 
dren,  how  jubilantly  she  trained  the  battered  chairs  in 
line,  and  put  herself  at  the  head,  with  Bubby's  scarlet 
tippet  wreathed  about  her  upstart  locks,  and  made  a  May 
Day! 

I  say,  she  had  the  soul  and  essence  of  the  very  life  she 
seemed  to  miss. 

There  were  shabby  children's  books  about  the  Grubbling 
domicile,  that  had  been  the  older  child's  —  Cornelia's  —  and 
had  descended  to  Master  Herbert,  while  yet  his  only  pas 
time  in  them  was  to  scrawl  them  full  of  pencil-marks,  and 
tear  them  into  tatters.  These,  one  by  one,  Glory  rescued, 
and  hid  away,  and  fed  upon,  piecemeal,  in  secret.  She  could 
read,  at  least,  —  this  poor,  denied  unfortunate.  Peter  Mc- 
Whirk  had  taught  his  child  her  letters  in  happy,  humble 
Sundays  and  holidays  long  ago ;  and  Mrs.  Grubbling  had 
begun  by  sending  her  to  a  primary  school  for  awhile, 
irregularly,  when  she  could  be  spared  ;  and  when  she  had  ii't 
just  torn  her  frock,  or  worn  out  her  shoes,  or  it  did  n't  rain, 
CT  she  had  n't  been  sent  of  an  errand  and  come  back  too 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.         33 

late,  —  which  reasons,  with  a  multitude  of  others,  constantly 
recurring,  reduced  the  school-days  in  the  year  to  a  number 
whose  smallness  Mrs.  Grubbling  would  have  indignantly 
disputed,  had  it  been  calculated  and  set  before  her ;  she 
being  one  of  those  not  uncommon  persons  who  regard  a  duty 
continually  evaded  as  one  continually  performed,  it  being 
necessarily  just  as  much  on  their  minds  ;  till,  at  last,  Her 
bert  had  a  winter's  ilrness,  and  in  summer  it  was  n't  worth 
while,  and  the  winter  after,  baby  came,  so  that  of  course 
she  could  n't  be  spared  at  all ;  and  it  seemed  little  likely 
now  that  she  ever  again  would  be.  But  she  kept  her  spell 
ing-book,  and  read  over  and  over  what  she  knew,  and  groped 
her  way  slowly  into  more,  till  she  promoted  herself  from  that 
to  "Mother  Goose,"  —  from  "Mother  Goose"  to  "Fables 
for  the  Nursery," — and  now,  her  ever  fresh  and  unfailing 
feast  was  the  "  Child's  Own  Book  of  Fairy  Tales,"  and  an  odd 
volume  of  the  "  Parents'  Assistant."  She  picked  out,  slowly, 
the  gist  of  these,  with  a  lame  and  uncertain  interpretation. 
She  lived  for  weeks  with  Beauty  and  the  Beast,  —  with 
Cinderella,  —  with  the  good  girl  who  worked  for  the  witch, 
and  shook  her  feather-bed  every  morning ;  till  at  last,  given 
leave  to  go  home  and  see  her  mother,  the  gold  and  silver 
shower  came  down  about  her,  departing  at  the  back-door. 
Perhaps  she  should  get  her  pay,  sometime,  and  go  home 
and  see  her  mother. 

Meanwhile,  she  identified  herself  with — lost  herself  utterly 
in — these  imaginary  lives.  She  was,  for  the  time,  Cinderella  •, 
she  was  Beauty ;  she  was  above  all,  the  Fair  One  with 
Golden  Locks;  she  was  Simple  Susan  going  to  be  May 
Queen;  she  dwelt  in  the  old  Castle  of  Rossmorc,  with  the 
Irish  Orphana  The  little  Grubbling  house  in  Budd  Street 


34         FAITH  GAkTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

was  peopled  all  through,  in  every  corner,  with  her  fancies. 
Don't  tell  me  she  had  nothing  but  her  niggardly  outside 
living  there. 

And  the  wonder  began  to  come  up  in  her  mind,  as  it  did 
in  Faith  Gartney's,  whether  and  when  "  something  might 
happen  "  to  her. 


CHAPTER  Y. 

SOMETHING    IIAPPBNB. 

Athirst !  athirst !    The  sandy  soil 

Bears  no  glad  trace  of  leaf  or  tree ; 
No  grass-blade  sixtieth  to  the  heaven 

Its  little  drop  of  ecstasy. 

Yet  other  fields  are  spreading  wide 
Green  bosoms  to  the  bounteous  sun ; 

And  palms  and  cedars  shall  sublime 
Their  rapture  for  thee,  —  waiting  one  ! 

"  TAKE  us  down  to  see  the  apple-woman,"  said  Master 
Herbert,  going  out  with  Glory  and  the  baby  one  day  when 
his  school  didn't  keep,  and  Mrs.  G-rubbling  had  a  head 
ache,  and  wanted  to  get  them  all  off  out  of  the  way. 

Bridget  Foye  sat  at  her  apple-stand  in  the  cheery  morn 
ing  sunlight,  red  cheeks  and  russets  ranged  fair  and  tempt 
ing  before  her,  and  a  pile  of  roasted  pea-nuts,  and  one  of 
delicate  molasses-candy,  such  as  nobody  but  she  knew  how 
to  make,  at  either  end  of  the  board. 

Bridget  Foye  was  the  tidiest,  kindliest,  merriest  apple- 
woman  in  all  Mishaumok.  Everybody  whose  daily  path 
lay  across  that  southeast  corner  of  the  Common,  knew  her 
well,  and  had  a  smile,  and  perhaps  a  penny  for  her ;  and 
got  a  smile  and  a  God-blcss-you,  and,  for  the  penny,  a  rosy 
or  a  golden  apple,  or  some  of  her  crisp  candy  in  return. 

Glory  and  the  baby,  sitting  down  to  rest  OB  one  of  the 


36         FAITH  GARTXEr'S   GIRLHOOD. 

benches  close  by,  as  their  habit  was,  had  one  day  made  a 
nearer  acquaintance  with  blithe  Bridget.  I  think  it  began 
with  Glory — who  held  the  baby  up  to  see  the  passing  show 
of  a  portion  of  a  menagerie  in  the  street,  and  heard  two 
girls,  stopping  just  before  her  to  look,  likewise,  say  they  'd 
go  and  see  it  perform  next  day, —  uttering  something 
of  her  old  soliloquy  about  "  good  times,"  and  why  she 
"  warn't  ever  in  any  of  'em."  However  it  was,  Mrs.  Foye, 
in  her  buxom  cheerincss,  was  drawn  to  give  some  of  it 
forth  to  the  uncouth-looking,  companionless  girl,  and  not 
only  began  a  chat  with  her,  after  the  momentary  stir  in  the 
street  was  over,  and  she  had  settled  herself  upon  her  stool, 
and  leaning  her  back  against  a  tree,  set  vigorously  to  work 
again  at  knitting  a  stout  blue  yarn  stocking,  bat  also 
treated  Bubby  and  Baby  to  some  bits  of  her  sweet  mer 
chandise,  and  told  them  about  the  bears  and  the  monkeys 
that  had  gone  by,  shut  up  in  the  gay,  rcd-and-yellow-painted 
wagons. 

It  was  between  her  busy  times  of  trade.  The  buzz  of 
bigger  trade  and  toil  had  long  ago  begun  "  down  town," 
and  the  last  tardy  straggler  had  passed  by,  on  his  way  to 
the  day's  labor  of  hand  or  brain.  Children  were  all  in 
school.  Here,  in  the  midst  of  the  great,  bustling  city,  waa 
a  green  hush  and  quiet ;  and  from  this  until  noon  Bridget 
had  but  chance  and  scattering  custom.  Nursemaids  and 
babies  did  n't  afford  her  much.  Besides,  they  kept,  for  the 
most  part,  to  the  upper  walks.  There  are  fashions  among 
nursemaids  as  among  their  betters. 

Glory  had  no  acquaintance  among  the  smart  damsels  who 
perambulated  certain  exclusive  localities,  in  charge  of  ele 
gant  little  carriages  heaped  up  inside  with  laee,  and  feathers, 
Mid  embroideries,  iu  the  midst  of  which  peeped  out  with 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.         37 

difficulty  the  wee  human  face  which  served  as  nucleus  and 
excuse  for  all  the  show. 

So  it  became,  after  this  first  opening,  Glory's  chief  pleas 
ure  to  get  out  with  the  children  now  and  then,  of  a  sunny 
day,  and  sit  here  on  the  bench  by  Bridget  Foye,  and  heat 
her  talk,  and  tell  her,  confidentially,  some  of  her  small, 
incessant  troubles.  It  was  one  more  life  to  draw  from,  —  a 
hearty,  bright,  and  wholesome  life,  beside.  She  had,  at 
last,  in  this  great,  tumultuous,  indifferent  city,  a  friendship 
and  a  resource  of  her  own. 

But  there  was  a  certain  fair  spot  of  delicate  honor  in 
Glory's  nature  that  would  not  let  her  bring  Bubby  and  Baby 
in  any  apparent  hope  of  what  they  might  get,  gratuitously, 
into  their  mouths.  She  laid  it  down,  a  rule,  with  Master 
Herbert,  that  he  was  not  to  go  to  the  apple-stand  with  her 
unless  he  had  first  put  by  a  penny  for  a  purchase.  And  so 
unflinchingly  she  adhered  to  this  determination,  that  some 
times  weeks  went  by,  —  hard,  weary  weeks,  without  a  bit 
of  pleasantness  for  her  ;  weeks  of  sore  pining  for  a  morsel 
of  heart-food,  —  before  she  was  free  of  her  own  conscience 
to  go  and  take  it. 

Bridget  told  stories  to  Herbert,  — strange,  nonsensical 
fables,  to  be  sure,  —  stuff  that  many  an  overwise  mother, 
bringing  up  her  children  by  hard  rule  and  theory,  might 
have  utterly  forbidden  as  harmful  trash,  —  yet  that  never 
put  an  evil  into  his  heart,  nor  crowded,  I  dare  to  say,  a  bet 
ter  thought  out  of  his  brain.  Glory  liked  the  stories  as 
well,  almost,  as  the  child.  One  moral  always  ran  through 
them  all.  Troubles  always,  somehow,  came  to  an  end; 
good  creatures  and  children  got  safe  out  of  them  all,  and 
lived  happy  ever  after  ;  and  the  fierce,  and  cunning,  and 
bad,  —  the  wolves,  and  foxes,  and  witches,  —  trapped 

4 


38         FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

themselves  in  their  own  wickednesses,  and  came  to  deplor 
able  ends. 

"  Tell  us  about  the  little  red  hen,"  said  Herbert,  paying 
his  money,  and  munching  his  candy. 

"  An'  thin  ye  '11  trundle  yer  hoop  out  to  the  big  tree,  au' 
lave  Glory  an'  me  our  lane  for  a  minute  ?" 

"  Faith,  an'  I  will  that,"  said  the  boy,  —  aping,   ambi  * 
tiously,  the  racy  Irish  accent 

"  Well,  thin,  there  was  once't  upon  a  time,  away  off  ID 
the  ould  country,  livin'  all  her  lane  in  the  woods,  in  a  weo 
bit  ir  a  house  be  herself,  a  little  rid  hin.  Nice  an'  quite 
she  was,  and  nivir  did  no  kind  o'  harrum  in  her  life.  An' 
there  lived  out  over  the  hill,  in  a  din  o'  the  rocks,  a  crafty 
ould  felly  iv  a  fox.  An'  this  same  ould  villain  iv  a  fox,  he 
laid  awake  o'  nights,  and  he  prowled  round  shly  iv  a  day 
time,  thinkin'  always  so  busy  how  he  'd  git  the  little  rid  hin, 
an'  carry  her  home  an'  bile  her  up  for  his  shupper.  But  the 
wise  little  rid  hin  nivir  went  in  til  her  bit  iv  a  house,  but 
she  locked  the  door  afther  her,  an'  pit  the  kay  in  her  pocket 
So  the  ould  rashkill  iv  a  fox,  he  watched,  an'  he  prowled, 
an'  he  laid  awake  nights,  till  he  came  all  to  skin  an'  bone, 
on'  sorra  a  ha'porth  o'  the  little  rid  hin  could  he  git  at. 
But  at  lasht  there  came  a  shcame  intil  his  wicked  ould  head, 
an'  he  tuk  a  big  bag  one  niornin',  over  his  shouldher,  and 
he  says  till  his  mother,  says  he,  '  Mother,  have  the  pot  all 
bilin'  agin'  I  come  home,  for  I  '11  bring  the  little  rid  hin  to 
night  for  our  shupper.'  An'  away  he  wint,  over  the  hill, 
an'  came  craping  shly  and  soft  through  the  woods  to  where 
the  little  rid  hin  lived  in  her  shnug  bit  iv  a  house.  An' 
enure,  jist  at  the  very  minute  that  he  got  along,  out  comes 
the  little  rid  hin  out  iv  the  door,  to  pick  up  shticks  to  bile 
her  tay-kettle.  '  Begorra,  now,  but  I  '11  have  yees,'  sajs  the 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.         39 

shly  ould  fox,  and  in  he  shlips,  unbeknownst,  intil  the 
house,  an'  hides  behind  the  door.  An'  in  conies  the  little 
rid  hin,  a  minute  afther,  with  her  apron  full  of  shticks,  an' 
shuts  to  the  door  an'  locks  it,  an'  pits  the  kay  in  her  pocket 
An  thin  she  turns  round,  —  an'  there  shtands  the  baste  iv 
a  fox  in  the  corner.  Well,  thin,  what  did  she  do,  but  jist 
dhrop  down  her  shticks,  and  fly  up  in  a  great  fright  and 
flutter  to  the  big  bame  acrass  inside  o'  the  roof,  where  the 
fox  could  n't  get  at  her  ? 

"'Ah,  ha!'  says  the  ould  fox,  'I'll  soon  bring  yeea 
down  out  o'  that ! '  An'  he  began  to  whirrul  round,  an' 
round,  an'  round,  fashter  an'  fashter  an'  fashter,  on  the  floor, 
afther  his  big,  bushy  tail,  till  the  little  rid  hin  got  so  dizzy 
wid  lookin',  that  she  jist  tumbled  down  off  the  bame,  and 
the  fox  whipped  her  up  and  popped  her  intil  his  bag,  and 
shtarted  off  home  in  a  minute.  An'  he  wint  up  the  wood, 
an'  down  the  wood,  half  the  day  long,  with  the  little  rid  hin 
shut  up  shmotherin'  in  the  bag.  Sorra  a  know  she  knowd 
where,  she  was,  at  all,  at  all.  She  thought  she  was  all  biled 
an'  ate  up,  an1  finished,  shure !  But,  by  an'  by,  she  remim- 
bered  herself,  an'  pit  her  hand  in  her  pocket,  and  tuk  out 
her  little  bright  schissors,  and  shnipped  a  big  hole  in  the 
bag  behind,  an'  out  she  leapt,  an'  picked  up  a  big  shtone 
an'  popped  it  intil  the  bag,  an'  rin  aff  home,  an'  locked  the 
door. 

"An'  the  fox  he  tugged  away  up  over  the  hill,  with  the 
big  shtone  at  his  back  thumpin'  his  shouldhers,  thinkin'  to 
himself  how  heavy  the  little  rid  hin  was,  an'  what  a  fine 
shupper  he  'd  have.  An'  whin  he  came  in  sight  iv  his  din 
in  the  rocks,  and  shpied  his  ould  mother  a  watchin'  for  him 
at  the  door,  he  says,  'Mother!  have  ye  the  pot  bilin'?' 
An'  the  ould  mother  says,  '  Sure  an'  it  is  :  an'  have  ye  the 


40         FAITH  GAKTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

little  rid  bin?'     '  Yes,  jist  here  in  me  bag.     Open  the  lid 
o'  the  pot  till  I  pit  her  in,'  says  he. 

"  An'  the  ould  mother  fox  she  lifted  the  lid  o'  the  pot, 
and  the  rashkill  untied  the  bag,  and  hild  it  over  the  pot  o' 
bilin'  wather,  an'  shuk  in  the  big,  heavy  shtone.  An'  the 
bilin'  wather  shplashed  up  all  over  the  rogue  iv  a  fox,  an' 
his  mother,  an'  slicalded  them  both  to  death.  An'  the  little 
rid  bin  lived  safe  in  her  house  foriver  afther." 

"  Ah ! "  breathed  Bubby,  in  intense  relief,  for  perhaps 
the  twentieth  time.  "  Now  tell  about  the  girl  that  went  to 
seek  her  fortune !  " 

"  Away  wid  ye ! "  cried  Bridget  Foye,  "  Kape  yer  prom- 
ish,  an*  lave  that  till  ye  come  back! " 

So  Herbert  and  his  hoop  trundled  off  to  the  big  tree. 

"  An'  how  are  yees  now,  honey?  "  says  Bridget  to  Glory, 
a  whole  catechism  of  questions  in  the  one  inquiry.  "  Have 
ye  come  till  any  good  times  yit  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Foye,"  says  Glory,  "  I  think  I  'm  tied  up 
tight  in  the  bag,  an'  I  '11  never  get  out,  except  it 's  into  the 
hot  water !  " 

"An'  havint  ye  nivir  a  pair  iv  schissors  in  yer  pocket?  " 
asks  Bridget. 

"  I  don't  know,"  says  poor  Glory,  hopelessly.  And  just 
then  Master  Herbert  comes  trundling  back,  and  Bridget 
tells  him  the  story  of  the  girl  that  went  to  seek  her  fortune 
and  came  to  be  a  queen. 

Glory  half  thinks  that,  some  day  or  other,  she,  too,  will 
etart  off  and  seek  her  fortune. 

The  next  morning,  Sunday,  —  never  a  holiday,  and 
scarcely  a  holy  day  to  her,  —  Glory  sits  at  the  front  win 
dow,  with  the  inevitable  baby  in  her  arms. 

Mrs.   Grubbling  is  up  stairs  getting  ready  for  churcb 


FAITH   GARTNET'S   GIRLHOOD.         41 

After  baby  has  his  forenoon  drink,  and  is  got  off  to  sleep. 
—  supposing  he  shall  be  complaisant,  and  go,  —  Glory  is  to 
ilust  up,  and  set  table,  and  warm  the  dinner,  and  be  all 
ready  to  bring  it  up  when  the  elder  Grubblings  shall  have 
returned,  a  hungered. 

Out  at  the  Pembertons'  green  gate  she  sees  the  tidy  par 
lor-maid  come,  in  her  smart  shawl  and  new,  bright  ribbons ; 
holding  up  her  pretty  printed  mousseline  dress  with  one 
hand,  as  she  steps  down  upon  the  street,  and  so  revealing 
the  white  hem  of  a  clean  starched  skirt ;  while  the  other 
hand  is  occupied  with  the  little  Catholic  prayer-book  and  a 
folded  handkerchief.  Actually,  gloves  on  her  hands,  too. 
The  gate  closes  with  a  cord  and  pulley  after  her,  and  some- 
how  the  hem  of  the  fresh,  outspreading  crinoline  gets  caught 
in  it,  as  it  shuts.  So  she  turns  half  round,  and  takes  both 
hands  to  push  it  open  and  release  herself.  Doing  so,  some 
thing  slips  from  between  the  folds  of  her  handkerchief,  and 
drops  upon  the  ground.  A  bright  half  dollar,  which  was 
going  to  pay  some  of  her  little  church  clues  to-day.  And 
she  hurries  on,  never  missing  it  out  of  her  grasp,  and  is 
half  way  down  the  side  street  before  Glory  can  set  the  baby 
suddenly  on  the  carpet,  rush  out  at  the  front  door,  regard 
less  that  Mrs.  Grubbling's  chamber  window  overlooks  he. 
from  above,  pick  up  the  coin,  and  overtake  her. 

"  I  saw  you  drop  it  by  the  gate,"  is  all  she  says,  as  slit 
puts  it  into  Katie  Ryan's  hand. 

Katie  stares  with  surprise,  turning  round  at  the  touch 
upon  her  shoulder,  and  beholding  the  strange  figure,  and 
the  still  stranger  evidence  of  honesty  and  good-will. 

"Indeed,  and  I'm  thoroughly  obliged  to  ye,"  says  she, 
oarely  in  time,  for  the  odd  figure  is  already  retreating  up 
Jie  street.  "  It's  the  red-headed  girl  over  at  Grubblings." 
4* 


42         FAITH   GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

she  continues  to  herself.  "  Well,  anyhow,  she  's  an  honest, 
kind-hearted  crature,  and  I  '11  not  forget  it  of  her." 

Glory  has  made  another  friend. 

"  Well,  Glory  McWhirk,  this  is  very  pretty  doings  in- 
deed ! "  began  Mrs.  Grabbling,  in  a  high  key,  which  had  a 
certain  peculiar  ring  also  of  satisfaction  in  it,  at  finding 
fair  and  obvious  reason  this  time  for  a  hearty  fault-finding, 

—  meeting  the  little  handmaiden  at  the  parlor  door  whither 
ehe  l»ad  hurried  down  to  confront  her  in  her  delinquency, 

—  "  So  this  is  the  way,  is  it,  when  my  back  is  turned  for 
a  minute  ?     That  poor  baby  dumped  down  on  the  floor,  to 
crawl  up  to  the  hot  stove,  or  do  any  other  horrid  thing  he 
likes,  while  you  go   flacketting  out,  bareheaded,  into  the 
streets,  after  a  topping  jade  like  that  ?  You  can't  have  any 
high-flown  acquaintances  while  you  live  in  my  house,  I  tell 
you  now,  once  and  for  all.     Are  you  going  to  take  up  that 
baby  or  not  ?  "  Mrs.  G  rubbling  had  been  thus  far  effectually 
heading  Glory  off,  by  standing  square  in  the  parlor  door 
way.     "Or  perhaps,  I  'd  better  stay  at  home  and  take  care 
of  him  myself,"  she  added,  in  a  tone  of  superlative  irony, 
as  suggesting  an  alternative  not  only  utterly  absurd  and 
inadmissible,  but  actually  appalling,  —  as  if  she  had  pro 
posed  to  take  off  her  head,  instead  of  her  bonnet,  and  sac 
rifice  that  to  the  temporary  amusement  of  her  child,  and  the 
relief  of  Glory. 

Poor  Glory,  meekly  murmuring  that  it  was  only  to  give 
back  some  money  the  girl  had  dropped,  slid  past  her  mis 
tress  submissively,  like  a  sentry  caught  off  his  post  and 
warned  of  mortal  punishment,  and  shouldered  arms  once 
more ;  that  is,  picked  up  the  baby,  who,  as  if  taking  the 
cue  from  his  mother,  and  made  conscious  of  his  grievance, 
bad  at  this  moment  begun  to  cry. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.         43 

Mrs.  Grabbling,  notwithstanding  her  shaken  confidence, 
put  on  her  gloves,  of  which  she  had  been  sewing  up  the 
tips,  just  now,  by  the  window,  when  she  witnessed  Glory's 
escapade,  and  departed,  leaving  the  girl  to  her  "  pacifying  " 
office,  sufficiently  secure  that  it  would  be  fulfilled. 

Glory  had  a  good  cry  of  her  own  first,  and  then,  "  killing 
two  birds  with  one  stone,"  pacified  herself  and  the  baby 
"  all  under  one." 

After  this,  Katie  Eyan  never  came  out  at  the  green  gate, 
of  a  Sunday  on  the  way  to  church,  or  of  a  week-day  to  run 
down  the  little  back  street  of  an  errand,  but  she  gave  a 
glance  up  at  the  Grubblings'  windows  ;  and  if  she  caught 
sight  of  Glory's  illumined  head,  nodded  her  own,  with  its 
pretty,  dark  brown  locks,  quite  pleasant  and  friendly.  And 
between  these  chance  recognitions  of  Katie's,  and  the  good 
apple- woman's  occasional  sympathy,  the  world  began  to 
brighten  a  little,  even  for  poor  Glory. 

Still,  good  times  went  on,  — grand,  wonderful  good  times, 
—  all  around  her.  And  she  caught  distant  glimpses,  but 
"was n't  in  'em." 

One  day,  as  she  hurried  home  from  the  grocer's  with  halfr 
o-dozen  eggs  and  two  lemons,  Katie  ran  out  from  the  gate, 
and  met  her  half  way  down  Budd  Street. 

"  I  've  been  watchin'  for  ye,"  said  she.  "  I  seen  ye  go 
out  of  an  errand,  an'  I  've  been  lookin'  for  ye  back.  There  'a 
to  be  a  grand  party  at  our  house  to-morrow  night,  an'  I 
thought  may  be  ye  'd  like  to  get  lave,  an'  run  over  to  take 
a  peep  at  it.  Put  on  yer  best  frock,  and  make  yer  hair 
tidy,  an'  I  '11  sec  to  yer  gettin'  a  good  chance." 

Poor  Glory  colored  up,  as  Mrs.  Grabbling  might  have 
ione  if  the  President's  wife  had  bidden  her.  Not  so,  either 
With  a  glow  jf  feeling,  and  an  oppression  of  gratitude,  and 


*4        FAITH    GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

a  humility  of  delight,  that  Mrs.  Grabbling,  under  any  cir 
cumstances  whatever,  could  have  known  nothing  about. 

"  If  I  only  can,"  she  managed  to  utter,  "and,  anyhow, 
I  'm  sure  I  'm  thankful  to  ye  a  thousand  times." 

And  that  night  she  sat  up  in  her  little  attic  room,  aftei 
everybody  else  was  in  bed,  mending,  in  a  poor  fashion,  a 
rent  in  the  faded  "  best  frock,"  and  sewing  a  bit  of  cotton 
lace  in  the  neck  thereof  that  she  had  picked  out  of  the  rag 
bag,  >nd  surreptitiously  washed  and  ironed. 

Next  morning,  she  went  about  her  homely  tasks  with  an 
alacrity  that  Mrs.  Grabbling,  knowing  nothing  of  the  hope 
that  had  been  let  in  upon  her  dreariness,  attributed  wholly 
to  the  salutary  effect  of  a  "good  scolding"  she  had  admin 
istered  the  day  before.  The  work  she  got  out  of  the  girl 
that  Thursday  forenoon !  Never  once  did  Glory  leave  her 
scrubbing,  or  her  dusting,  or  her  stove-polishing,  to  glance 
from  the  windows  into  the  street,  though  the  market-boys, 
and  the  waiters,  and  the  confectioners'  parcels  were  going  in 
at  the  Pembertons'  gate,  and  the  man  from  the  green-house, 
even,  drove  his  cart  up,  filled  with  beautiful  plants  for  the 
staircase. 

She  waited,  as  in  our  toils  we  wait  for  Heaven,  —  trust 
ing  to  the  joy  that  was  to  come. 

After  dinner,  she  spoke,  with  fear  and  trembling.  Her 
lips  turned  quite  white  with  anxiety  as  she  stood  before 
Mrs.  Grabbling  with  the  baby  in  her  arms. 

The  lady  had  been  far  from  unobservant,  on  her  own  part, 
all  the  day,  of  what  was  going  on  upon  her  richer  neigh- 
bor's  premises.  Her  spirit  was  not  attuned  to  gentle  charity 
just  then.  Her  mood  was  not  that  of  gracious  compliance 
Let  us  be  pitiful  to  her,  also.  She,  too,  saw  "  good  times'1 
going  on,  and  felt,  bitterly,  that  she  "was n't  in  'em." 


FAITH    GARTNEF'S    GIRLHOOD.        45 

"  Please,  mum,"  says  Glory,  tremulously,  "  Katie  Ryan 
asked  me  over  for  a  little  while  to-night  to  look  at  the 
party." 

Mrs.  Grubbling  actually  felt  a  jealousy,  as  if  her  poor, 
untutored  handmaid  were  taking  precedence  of  herself. 

"What  party  ?"  she  snapped, — nothing  else  occurring 
to  her,  in  the  sudden  shock,  to  say. 

"  At  the  Pembertons',  mum.  I  thought  you  knew 
about  it." 

"  And  what  if  I  do?     Maybe  I  'm  going,  myself." 

Glory  opened  her  eyes  wide  in  mingled  consternation  and 
surprise. 

"  I  did  n't  think  you  was,  mum,     But  if  you  is  —  " 

"  You  're  willing,  I  suppose,"  retorted  her  mistress,  laugh 
ing,  in  a  bitter  way.  "  I  'm  very  much  obliged.  But  I  'm 
going  out  to-night,  anyhow,  whether  it 's  there  or  not,  and 
you  can't  be  spared.  Besides,  you  need  n't  think  you  're 
going  to  begin  with  going  out  evenings  yet  awhile.  At  your 
age !  A  pretty  thing  !  There,  —  go  along,  and  don 't  bother 
me." 

Glory  went  along  ;  and  only  the  baby  —  of  mortal  listen 
ers —  heard  the  suffering  cry  that  went  up  from  her  poor, 
pinched,  and  chilled,  and  disappointed  heart. 

"  Oh,  baby,  baby  !  it  was  too  good  a  time  !  I  'd  ought 
to  a  knowed  I  could  n't  be  in  it ! " 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grubbling  did  go  out  that  night.  "Whether 
it  was  a  sudden  thought,  suggested  by  Glory's  application, 
or  a  previous  resolve  adapted  by  the  mistress  that  she 
might  be  out  of  the  way  of  the  tantalizing  merriment  oppo 
site,  I  will  not  undertake  to  say.  It  is  sufficient  that  there 
ffas  a  benefit  play  at  dne  of  the  secondary  theatres,  and 
that  Mrs.  Grubbling  there  forgot  her  jealousies,  and  the 


46         FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

pangs,  so  far  as  she  had  at  all  understood  them,  of  Glory 
ICcWhirk 

So  safe  as  she  felt,  having  bidden  her  stay,  that  Glory 
would  be  faithful  at  her  post,  and  ' '  mind "  her  children 
well ! 

Only  a  stone's  throw  from  those  brightly-lighted  windows 
nf  the  Pembertons'.  Their  superfluous  radiance  pouring 
out  lavishly  across  the  narrow  street,  searched  even  through 
the  dim  panes  behind  which  Glory  sat,  resting  her  tired 
arms,  after  tucking  away  their  ordinary  burden  in  his  crib, 
and  answering  Herbert's  wearisome  questions,  who  from  his 
trundle-bed  kept  asking,  ceaselessly,  — 

"  What  are  they  doing  now?     Can't  you  see,  Glory  ?  " 

"  Hush,  hush  !  "  said  Glory,  breathlessly,  as  a  burst  of 
brilliant  melody  floated  over  to  her  ear.  "  They  're  making 
music  now.  Don't  you  hear?  " 

"  No.  How  can  I,  with  my  head  in  the  pillow  ?  I  :m 
coming  there  to  sit  with  you,  Glory."  And  the  boy  scram 
bled  from  his  bed  to  the  window. 

"  No,  no!  you'll  ketch  cold.  Besides,  you'd  oughter  go 
to  sleep.  Well,  —  only  for  a  little  bit  of  a  minute,  then," 
as  Herbert  persisted,  and  climbing  upon  her  lap,  flattened 
his  face  against  the  wir-dow-pane,  to  look  as  closely  as  might 
be  at  the  show. 

Glory  gathered  up  her  skirt  about  his  shoulders  and  held 
him  for  awhile,  begging  him  uneasily,  over  and  over,  to 
"  be  a  good  boy,  and  go  back  to  bed."  No  ;  he  would  n't 
be  a  good  boy,  and  he  would  n't  go  back  to  bed,  till  the 
music  paused.  Then,  by  dint  of  promising  that  if  it  began 
again  she  would  open  the  window  a  "  teenty  little  crack, 'r 
so  that  he  might  hear  it  better,  she  coaxed  him  to  the  point 
of  yielding,  and  tucked  him,  chilly,  yet  half  unwilling,  in 
the  trundle. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.         47 

Back  again,  to  look  and  listen.  And,  oh,  wonderful  and 
unexpected  fortune !  A  beneficent  hand  has  drawn  up  the 
white  linen  shade  at  one  of  the  back  parlor  windowa  to 
slide  the  sash  a  little  from  the  top.  It  was  Katie,  whom 
her  young  mistress,  standing  with  her  partner  at  thab  cor 
ner  of  the  room,  had  called  in  from  the  hall  to  do  it. 

"No,  no,"  whispered  the  young  lady,  hastily,  as  her 
companion  moved  to  render  her  the  service  she  desired, 
"  let  Katie  come  in.  She  '11  get  such  a  good  look  down  the 
room  at  the  dancers."  There  was  no  abated  admiration  in 
the  young  man's  eye,  as  he  turned  back  to  her  side,  and 
allowed  her  kindly  intention  to  be  fulfilled. 

Did  Katie  surmise,  in  her  turn,  with  the  freemasonry  of 
her  class,  how  it  was  with  her  humble  friend  over  the  way, — 
that  she  could  n't  get  let  out  for  the  evening,  and  that  she 
would  be  sure  to  be  looking  and  listening  from  her  old  post 
opposite  ?  However  it  was,  the  linen  shade  was  not  lowered 
again,  and  there  between  the  lace  and  crimson  curtains 
stood  revealed  the  graceful  young  figure  of  Edith  Peraber- 
ton,  in  her  floating  ball  robes,  with  the  wreath  of  morning- 
glories  in  her  hair. 

"Oh,  my  sakcs  and  sorrows!  Aint  she  just  like  a 
princess  ?  Aint  it  a  splendid  time  ?  And  I  come  so  near 
to  be  in  it !  But  I  aint ;  and  I  s'pose  I  shan't  ever  get 
a  chance  again.  Maybe  Katie  'd  get  me  over  of  a  com 
mon  work-day  though,  sometime,  to  help  her  a  bit  or  so. 
Would  n't  I  be  glad  to?" 

"  Oh,  for  gracious,  child  !  Don't  ever  come  here  again 
You  '11  catch  your  death.  You  '11  have  the  croup  and  whoop, 
ing-cough,  and  everything  to-morrow."  This  to  Herbert, 
who  had  of  course  tumbled  out  of  bed  again  at  Glory's  firsl 
rapturous  exclamation. 


+ft         FAITH   GARTNEF'S   GIRLHOOD. 

"  No,  I  won't!  "  cried  the  boy,  rebelliously ;  "  I  '11  stay  as 
long  as  I  like.  And  I  '11  tell  my  ma  how  you  was  a  wantin' 
to  go  away  and  be  the  Pembertons'  girl.  Won't  she  lainm 
you  when  she  hears  that?  " 

"  You  can  tell  wicked  lies  if  you  want  to,  Master  Her 
bert  ;  but  you  know  I  never  said  such  a  word,  nor  ever 
thought  of  it.  Of  course  I  could  n't  if  I  wanted  to  ever  so 
had." 

"Couldn't  live  there?  I  guess  not.  Think  they'd 
have  a  girl  like  you?  What  a  lookin'  you'd  be,  a-comin' 
to  the  front  door  answerin'  the  bell !  " 

"  Now,  Master  Herbert,"  implored  Glory,  magnanimously 
ignoring  the  persocai  taunt,  and  intent  only  on  the  health 
and  safety  of  the  malicious  little  scapegrace,  who  I  believe 
would  rather  have  caught  a  horrible  cold  than  not,  if  only 
Glory  might  bear  the  blame,  and  he  be  kept  in  from 
school  and  have  the  monopoly  of  her  services  to  "  keep  him 
pacified  "  —  "do  just  go  back  to  bed  with  you,  like  a  good 
boy,  and  I  '11  make  a  tent  over  the  baby,  and  open  a  tecnty 
crack  of  the  windy.  The  music  's  beginuiu'  again." 

Here  the  door  bell  rang  suddenly  and  sharply,  and  Master 
Herbert  fancying,  as  did  Glory,  that  it  was  his  mother  come 
back,  scrambled  into  his  bed  again  and  covered  himself  up, 
while  the  girl  ran  down  to  answer  the  summons. 

It  was  Katie  Ryan,  with  cakes  and  sweetmeats  in  her 
bauds. 

"  I  've  jist  rin  in  to  fetch  ye  these.  Miss  Edith  gave 
'em  me,  so  ye  need  n't  be  feared.  I  knows  ye  're  sich  an 
honest  one.  An'  it 's  a  tearin'  shame,  if  ever  there  was,  that 
ye  couldn't  come  over  for  a  bit  of  diversion.  Why  don't 
ve  quit  this?" 

"  Oh,  hush !  "  whispered  Glory,  with  a  gesture  up  the 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.        49 

staircase,  where  she  had  just  left  the  little  pitcher  with 
tearfully  long  ears.  "And  thank  you  kindly,  over  and 
o\er,  I  'm  sure.  It's  real  good  o'  you  to  think  o'  mo  so  — 
oh !  "  And  Glory  could  n't  say  anything  more  for  a  quick 
little  sob  that  came  in  her  throat,  and  caught  the  last  word 
up  into  a  spasm. 

"  Pooh !  it 's  just  nothing  at  all.  I  'd  do  something  bet 
ter  nor  that  if  I  had  the  chance  ;  an'  I  'd  adwise  ye  to  get 
out  o'  this  if  ye  can.  Good-bye.  I  've  set  the  parlor  windy 
open,  an'  the  shade 's  up.  I  knew  it  would  jist  be  a  con 
venience." 

Katie  skipped  over  the  street,  that  was  scarcely  more 
than  a  gutter,  and  disappeared  through  the  green  gate. 

Glory  ran  up  the  back  stairs  to  the  top  of  the  house,  and 
hid  away  the  sweet  things  in  her  own  room  to  "  make  a 
party"  with  next  day.  And  then  she  went  down  and 
tented  over  the  crib  with  an  old  woolen  shawl,  and  set  a 
high-backed  rocking-chair  to  keep  the  draft  from  Herbert, 
and  opened  the  window  "  a  teenty  crack,"  according  to 
promise.  In  five  minutes  the  slight  freshening  of  the  air 
and  the  soothing  of  the  music  had  sent  the  boy  to  sleep, 
and  watchful  Glory  closed  the  window  and  set  things  in 
their  ordinary  arrangement  once  more. 

Next  morning  Herbert  made  hoarse  complaint,  and  was 
kept  in  from  school. 

"  What  did  you  let  him  do,  Glory,  to  catch  such  a  cold?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Grubbling,  who  assumed  for  granted,  whatever 
was  amiss,  that  Glory  must  have  done,  or  let  be  done,  or  left 
undone  something. 

"  Nothing,  mum,  only  he  would  get  out  of  bed  to  hear 
tits  music,"  replied  the  girl. 

"  Well,  you  opened  the  window,  you  know  you  did,  and 

5 


60         FAITH    GAKTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

Katie  Ryan  came  over  and  kept  the  front  door  open.  And 
you  said  how  you  wished  you  could  go  over  there  and  do 
their  chores.  I  told  you  I  'd  tell" 

"It's  wicked  lies,  mum,"  burst  out  Glory,  indignant 
"  I  never  said  no  such  thing." 

"  Do  you  dare  to  tell  him  he  lies,  right  before  my  face, 
you  good-for-nothing  girl  ?  "  shrieked  the  exasperated  moth 
er.  "  Where  do  you  expect  to  go  to? " 

"  I  don't  expect  to  go  nowheres,  mum ;  and  I  would  n't 
say  it  was  lies  if  he  did  n't  tell  what  wasn't  true." 

"  How  should  such  a  thing  come  into  his  head  if  you 
did  n't  say  it?  Who  do  you  suppose  I  'd  believe  first?  " 

"There's  many  things  comes  into  his  head,"  answered 
Glory,  stoutly  and  simply,  "and  I  think  you'd  oughter 
believe  me  first,  when  I  never  told  you  a  lie  in  my  life,  and 
you  did  ketch  Master  Herbert  fibbing,  jist  the  other  day, 
but." 

Somehow,  Glory  had  grown  strangely  bold  in  her  own 
behalf  since  she  had  come  to  feel  there  was  a  bit  of  sympa 
thy  somewhere  for  her  in  the  world. 

"  I  know  now  where  he  learns  it,"  retorted  the  mistress, 
with  persistent  and  angry  injustice. 

Glory's  face  blazed  up,  aud  she  took  an  involuntary  step 
to  the  woman's  side  at  the  stinging  and  warrantless  accusa 
tion. 

"  You  don't  mean  that,  mum,  and  you  'd  oughter  take  it 
back,"  said  she,  excited  beyond  all  fear  and  habit  of  sub 
mission. 

Mrs.  Grubbling  raised  her  hand,  passionately,  and  struck 
the  girl  upon  the  cheek. 

"  I  mean  that,  then,  for  your  impudence !  Don't  answei 
me  up  again! " 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.         51 

"  No,  mum,"  said  Glory,  in  a  low,  strange  tone ;  quite 
white  now,  except  where  the  vindictive  fingers  had  left  their 
crimson  streaks.  And  she  went  off  out  of  the  room  without 
another  word. 

Over  the  knife-board  she  revolved  her  wrongs,  and  sharp 
ened  at  length  the  keen  edge  of  desperate  resolution. 

"  Piease,  mum,"  said  she,  in  the  old  form  of  address,  but 
with  quite  a  new  manner,  that,  in  the  little  dependant  of 
less  than  fifteen,  startled  the  hard  mistress,  as  she  recog 
nized  it,  "  I  aint  noways  bound  to  you,  am  I? " 

She  propounded  her  question,  stopping  short  in  her  return 
toward  the  china-closet  through  the  sitting-room,  and  con 
fronting  the  enemy  with  both  hands  full  of  knives  and  forks 
that  bristled  out  before  her  like  a  concentrated  charge  of 
bayonets. 

"Bound?  What  do  you  mean?"  parried  Mrs.  Grub- 
bling,  dimly  foreshadowing  to  herself  what  it  would  be  if 
Glory  should  break  loose,  and  go. 

"  To  stay,  mum,  and  you  to  keep  me,  till  I  'm  growed 
up,"  answered  Glory,  briefly. 

"  There 's  no  binding  about  it,"  replied  the  mistress. 
41  Of  course  I  would  n't  be  held  to  anything  of  that  sort.  I 
shan't  keep  you  any  longer  than  you  behave  yourself." 

"  Then  if  you  please,  mum,  I  think  I  '11  go,"  said  Glory. 
And  she  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears,  which  she  wiped  first 
with  the  back  of  one  hand,  and  then  with  the  other,  —  the 
bright  steel  blades  and  tines  flashing  up  and  down  danger 
ously  about  her  head,  like  lightnings  about  a  rain  cloud. 

"  Humph !    Where?  "  asked  Mrs.  Grabbling,  sarcastically. 

"I  don't  know,  yet,"  said  Glory,  the  sarcasm  drying  her 
tears,  as  she  moved  on  to  the  closet  and  deposited  her  knives 
and  forks  in  the  tray.  "  I  'spose  I  can  go  to  a  office." 


52        FAITH    GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

"  And  where  '11  you  get  your  meals  and  your  lodgings 
till  you  find  a  place?  "  The  cat  thought  she  had  her  paw 
on  the  mouse,  now,  and  could  play  with  her  as  securely  and 
cruelly  as  she  pleased. 

"  If  you  go  away  at  all,"  continued  Mrs.  Grabbling, 
with  what  she  deemed  a  finishing  stroke  of  policy,  "  you 
go  straight  off.  I  '11  have  no  dancing  back  and  forth  to 
offices  from  here." 

"  Do  you  mean  right  off,  this  minute  ?  "  asked  Glory, 
aghast 

"  Yes,  just  that.  Pack  up  and  go,  or  else  let  me  hear  no 
more  about  it." 

The  next  thing  in  Glory's  programme  of  duty  was  to  lay 
the  table  for  dinner.  But  she  went  out  of  the  room,  and 
slowly  off,  up  stairs. 

Pretty  soon  she  came  down  again,  with  her  eyes  very 
swelled  and  tearful,  and  her  shabby  shawl  and  bonnet  on. 

"I'm  going,  mum,"  said  she,  as  one  resolved  to  face 
calmly  whatever  might  befall.  "  I  did  n't  mean  it  to  be 
sudden,  but  it  are.  And  I  would  n't  never  a  gone,  if  I  'd  a 
thought  anybody  cared  for  me  the  leastest  bit  that  ever 
was.  I  wouldn't  mind  bein'  worked  and  put  upon,  and 
not  havin'  any  good  times ;  but  when  people  hates  me,  and 
goes  to  say  I  does  n't  tell  the  truth,"  —  here  Glory  broke 
down,  and  the  tears  poured  over  her  stained  cheeks  again, 
and  she  essayed  once  more  instinctively  to  dry  them,  which 
reminded  her  that  her  hands  again  were  full. 

"It's  some  goodies  —  from  the  party,  mum,"  —  she 
struggled  to  say  between  short  breaths  and  sobs,  "  that 
Katie  Ryan  give  me,  —  an'  I  kept  —  to  make  a  party  — 
for  the  children,  with  —  to-day,  mum,  —  when  the  chores 
was  done,  —  and  I  '11  leave  'em  —  for  'em,  —  if  you  please. ' 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.        53 

Glory  laid  her  coals  of  fire  upon  the  table  as  she  spoke. 
Master  Herbert  eyed  them,  as  one  utterly  unconscious  of  a 
scorch. 

"  I  'spose  I  might  come  back  and  get  my  bundle,"  said 
Glory,  standing  still  in  the  hope  of  one  last  kindly  or  relent 
ing  word. 

"  Oh,  yes,  if  you  get  a  place,"  said  her  mistress,  dryly, 
affecting  to  treat  the  whole  affair  as  a  childish,  though  un 
wonted  burst  of  petulance ;  and  making  sure  that  a  few 
hours  would  see  Glory  back,  subdued,  discouraged,  peni 
tent,  and  ready  to  bear  the  double  task  of  to-morrow  that 
should  make  up  for  the  rebellion  and  lost  time  of  to-day. 

But  Glory,  not  daring,  unbidden,  even  to  kiss  the  baby, 
went  steadily  and  sorrowfully  out  into  the  street,  and  drew 
the  door  behind  her,  that  shut  with  a  catch-lock,  and  fast- 
ened  her  out  into  the  wide  world. 

Not  stopping  to  think,  she  hurried  on,  up  Budd  and  down 
Branch  Street,  and  across  the  green  common-path  to  the 
apple-stand  and  Bridget  Foye. 

"I've  done  it !  I 've  gone !  And  I  don't  know  what  to 
do,  nor  where  to  go  to  !" 

"  Arrah,  poor  little  rid  hin  !  So,  ye  've  found  yer  schis- 
sors,  have  ye,  an'  let  yersel'  loose  out  o'  the  bag  ?  Well, 
\t  's  I  that  is  glad,  though  I  would  n't  pit  ye  up  till  it," 
says  Bridget  Foye,  washing  her  hands  in  innocency. 

Poor  little  red  hen.  She  had  cut  a  hole,  and  jumped  out 
i  f  the  bag,  to  be  sure  ;  but  here  she  was,  "  all  alone  by 
uerself  "  once  more,  and  the  foxes  —  Want  and  Cruelty  — 
ravening  after  her  all  through  the  great,  dreary  wood ! 

This  day,  at  least,  passed  comfortably  enough,  however, 
although  with  an  undertone  of  sadness,  —  in  the  sunshine, 
oy  Bridget's  apple-stand,  watching  the  gay  passers-by,  and 
5* 


54         FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

shaping  some  humble  hopes  and  plans  for  the  future.  For 
dinner,  she. shared  Mrs.  Foye's  plain  bread  and  cheese,  and 
made  a  dessert  of  an  apple  and  a  handful  of  peanuts.  At 
night  Bridget  took  her  home  and  gave  her  shelter,  and  the 
next  day  she  started  her  off  with  a  "  God-bless-ye  and  good- 
luck-till-ye,"  in  the  charge  of  an  older  girl  who  lodged  in 
Mie  «une  building,  and  who  was  also  «  out  after  a  place  " 


CHAPTER   VI. 
AUNT  HENDERSON'S  GIRL-HUNT. 

M  Black  spirits  and  white, 
Red  spirits  and  gray  ; 
Mingle,  mingle,  mingle, 
You  that  mingle  may." 

MACBETH. 

IT  was  a  small,  close,  dark  room,  —  Mrs.  Griggs's  Intel 
ligence  Office,  —  a  little  counter  and  show-case  dividing  off 
its  farther  end,  making  a  sanctum  for  Mrs.  Griggs,  who 
combined  a  little  of  the  tape-and-button  business  with  her 
more  lucrative  occupation,  and  who  sat  here  in  immovable 
and  rheumatic  ponderosity,  dependent  for  whatever  involved 
locomotion  on  the  rather  alarming  alacrity  of  an  impish- 
looking  grand-daughter  who,  just  at  the  moment  whereof  I 
write,  is  tearing  in  at  the  street  door,  and  elbowing  her  way 
through  the  throng  of  applicants  for  places  and  servants, 
quite  regardless  of  the  expression  of  horror  and  astonish 
ment  she  has  called  forth  on  the  face  of  a  severe-looking, 
elderly  lady,  who,  by  her  impetuous  onset,  has  been  rudely 
thrust  back  into  the  very  arms  of  a  fat,  unsavory  cook  with 
whom  she  had  a  minute  before  been  quite  unwillingly  set 
to  confer  by  the  high-priestess  of  the  place,  and  who  had 
almost  equally  relieved  and  exasperated  her,  by  remarking, 
as  she  glanced  over  her  respectable  but  somewhat  unstylish 


56        FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

figure  md  dress,  that  she  "  guessed  it  would  n't  be  worth 
while  to  talk  about  it,  for  she  had  never  lived  with  any  but 
fust-class  ladies,  and  her  wages  was  three-and-a-half." 

Aunt  Henderson  grasped  Faith's  hand  as  if  she  felt  she 
had  brought  her  into  a  danger,  and  held  her  close  to  her 
side  while  she  paused  a  moment  to  observe,  with  the  strange 
fascination  of  repulsion,  the  manifestation  of  a  phase  cf 
human  life  and  the  working  of  a  vocation  so  utterly  and 
astoundingly  novel  to  herself. 

"  Well,  Melindy,"  said  Mrs.  Griggs,  salutatorily. 

"  Well,  grandma,"  answered  the  girl,  with  a  pert  air  of 
«how-off  and  consequence,  "  I  found  the  place,  and  I  found 
the  lady.  Aint  I  been  quick  ?  " 

"  Yes.     What  did  she  say  ?  " 

"Said  the  girl  left  last  Saturday.  Aint  had  anybody 
Bence.  Wants  you  to  send  her  a  first-rate  one,  right  oS, 
straight.  Has  Care'&ne  been  here  after  me  ?  " 

"  No.     Did  you  get  the  money  ?" 

"  She  never  said  a  word  about  it  Guess  she  forgot  the 
month  was  out," 

"  Did  n't  you  ask  her?  " 

"  Me  ?  No.  I  did  the  arrant,  and  stood  and  looked  at 
her,  — jest  as  pious — !  And  when  she  did  n't  say  nothin*, 
I  come  away." 

"  Winny  M'Goverin,"  said  Mrs.  Griggs,  "  that  place  '11 
suit  you.  Leastways,  it  must,  for  another  month.  You  'd 
better  go  right  round  there." 

"  Where  is  it  ?  "  asked  the  fat  cook,  indifferently,  over 
Bliss  Henderson's  shoulder. 

"  Up  in  Mount  Pleasant  Street,  Number  53.  First-class 
place,  and  plenty  of  privileges.  Margaret  McKay,"  sl»e 
continued,  to  another,  who  stood  with  a  waiting  expression 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.         57 

beside  the  counter,  "you're  too  hard  to  please.  Here's 
one  more  place,"  —  handing  her  a  card  with  address, — 
"and  if  you  don't  take  that,  I  won't  do  nothing  more 
for  you,  if  you  air  Scotch  and  a  Protestant!  Mary 
McGinnis,  it 's  no  use  your  talking  to  that  lady  from  the 
country.  She  can't  spare  you  to  come  down  but  twice  or 
so  a  year." 

"  Lord !  "  ejaculated  Mary  McG-innis,  "  I  would  n't  live 
a  whole  year  with  no  lady  that  ever  was,  let  alone  the 
country ! " 

"  Come  out,  Faith ! "  said  Miss  Henderson,  in  a  deep, 
ineffable  tone  of  disgust,  drawing  her  niece  to  the  door,  just 
in  time  to  escape  a  second  charge  of  Miss  Melindy's,  who 
was  dashing  in  that  direction  again,  to  "look  down  street 
after  CareVme." 

"  If  that's  a  genteel  West  End  Intelligence  Office,"  cried 
Aunt  Faith,  as  she  touched  the  sidewalk,  "  let 's  go  down 
town  and  try  some  of  the  common  ones." 

A  large  hall,  —  where  the  candidates  were  ranged  on 
settees  under  order  and  restraint,  and  the  superintendent, 
or  directress,  occupied  a  desk  placed  upon  a  platform  near 
the  entrance,  —  was  the  next  scene  whereon  Miss  Hender 
son  and  Faith  Gartney  entered.  Things  looked  clean  and 
respectable.  System  obtained  here.  Aunt  Faith  felt  en 
couraged.  But  she  made  no  haste  to  utter  her  business. 
Tall,  self-possessed,  and  dignified,  she  stood  a  few  paces 
inside  the  door,  and  looked  down  the  apartment,  surveying 
coolly  the  faces  there,  and  analyzing,  by  a  shrewd  mental 
process,  their  indications. 

Her  niece  had  stopped  a  moment  on  the  landing  outside 
to  fasten  her  boot-lace. 

Miss  Henderson  did  not  wear  hoops.     Also,  tie  streets 


58         FAITH    GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

being  sloppy,  she  had  tucked  up  her  plain,  gray  merino  diess 
over  a  quilted  black  alpaca  petticoat  Her  boots  were 
splashed,  and  her  black  silk  bonnet  was  covered  with  a  large 
gray  barege  veil,  tied  down  over  it  to  protect  it  from  the 
dripping  roofs.  Judging  merely  by  exterior,  one  unskilled 
in  countenance  would  hardly  take  her  at  a  glance,  indeed, 
for  a  "  fust-class  "  lady. 

The  directress  —  a  busy  woman,  with  only  half  a  glance 
to  spare  for  any  one — moved  toward  her. 

"  Take  a  seat,  if  you  please.  What  kind  of  a  place  do 
you  want  ?  " 

Aunt  Faith  turned  full  face  upon  her,  with  a  look  that 
was  prepared  to  be  overwhelming,  if  it  met  impertinence. 

"  I  'm  looking  for  a  place,  ma'am,  where  I  can  find  a 
respectable  girL" 

Her  firm,  emphatic  utterance  was  heard  to  the  farthest 
end  of  the  hall. 

The  girls  tittered. 

Aunt  Faith  sent  her  keen  eyes  quickly  over  the  benches. 

Faith  G-artney  came  in  at  this  moment,  and  walked  up 
quietly  to  Miss  Henderson's  side.  There  was  visibly  a  new 
impression  made,  and  the  tittering  ceased.  Especially  as 
the  directress  also  enforced  order  with  a  look  and  word  of 
Authority. 

"  I  beg  pardon,  ma'am.  I  see.  But  we  have  so  many 
in,  and  I  did  n't  fairly  look.  General  housework  ?  " 

"Yes;  general  and  particular  —  both.  "Whatever  I  set 
her  to  do." 

The  directress  turned  toward  the  throng  of  faces  whose 
fire  of  eyes  was  now  all  concentrated  on  the  unflinching 
countenance  of  Miss  Henderson. 

"  Ellen  Mahoney ! " 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.        59 

A  stout,  well-looking  damsel,  with  an  expression  that 
seemed  to  say  she  answered  to  her  name,  but  was  neverthe 
less  persuaded  of  the  utter  uselessness  of  the  movement, 
half  rose  from  her  seat. 

"  You  need  n't  call  up  that  girl,"  said  Aunt  Faith,  de 
cidedly  ;  "  I  don't  want  her." 

Ellen  Mahoney  had  giggled  among  the  loudest. 

"  She  knows  what  she  does  want !  "  whispered  a  decent- 
appearing  young  woman  to  a  girl  at  her  side  with  an  eager 
face  looking  out  from  a  friz  of  short  curly  hair,  "  and  that 's 
more  than  half  of  'em  do.  She  's  a  real  sensible  woman, 
and  the  young  one  's  just  a  picture  to  look  at.  I  'd  try  for 
it  myself,  only  I  'm  half  engaged  to  the  one  that  had  me  up 
a  minute  ago." 

"  Country,  did  you  say,  ma'am?  or  city?"  asked  the 
directress  once  more  of  Miss  Henderson. 

"  I  did  n't  say.  It 's  country,  though,  —  twenty  miles 
out." 

"What  wages?" 

"  I  '11  find  the  girl  first,  and  settle  that  afterwards." 

"  Anybody  to  do  general  housework  in  the  country, 
twenty  miles  out?  " 

The  prevailing  expression  of  the  assemblage  changed. 
There  was  a  settling  down  into  seats,  a  withdrawing  of 
earnest  and  curious  glances,  and  a  resumption  of  knitting 
and  needlework. 

One  pair  of  eyes,  however,  looked  on,  even  more  eagerly 
than  before.  One  young  girl,  —  she  with  the  short  curly 
hair,  —  who  had  been  gazing  at  the  pretty  face  of  Faith 
since  she  came  in  as  if  it  had  been  a  vision,  and  who 
had  n't  seen  the  country,  and  had  hardly  heard  it  named, 
for  six  years  and  more  last  gone  of  her  young  life,  and 


60        FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

could  with  difficulty  conceive  that  there  should  be  any 
straight  or  easily  traversed  path  out  of  these  interminable 
city  walls  into  the  breadth  and  beauty,  that  came  to  her  as 
a  far-off  recollection  in  her  dreams  of  delight,  —  caught 
her  breath,  convulsively,  at  the  word. 

"  I  wish  I  dar'st !  I  've  a  great  mind ! "  whispered  she 
to  her  tidy  companion. 

While  she  hesitated,  a  slatternly  ycung  woman,  a  few 
seats  further  forward,  moved,  with  a  "  don't  care  "  sort  of 
look,  to  answer  the  summons. 

"  Oh,  dear! "  sighed  the  first,  quite  sure  of  her  own  wish 
now  that  she  perceived  herself  anticipated,  "I'd  ought  to 
a  done  it ! " 

"  I  don't  think  she  would  take  a  young  girl  like  you," 
replied  her  friend. 

"That's  the  way  it  always  is!"  exclaimed  the  disap 
pointed  voice,  in  forgetfulness  and  excitement  uttering 
itself  aloud.  "  Plenty  of  good  times  going,  but  they  all 
go  right  by.  I  aint  never  in  any  of  'em ! " 

"  Glory  McWhirk ! "  chided  the  directress  from  her  desk, 
"be  quiet!  Kemember  the  rules,  or  leave  the  room." 

"  Call  that  red-headed  girl  to  me,"  said  Miss  Henderson, 
turning  square  round  from  the  dirty  figure  that  was  pre 
senting  itself  before  her,  and  addressing  the  desk.  "  She 
looks  clean  and  bright,"  she  added,  aside,  to  Faith,  as 
Glory  timidly  yet  hastily  answered  a  signal  and  approached. 
"  And  poor.  And  longing  for  a  chance.  I  '11  have  her." 

A  girl  with  a  bonnet  full  of  braids  and  roses,  and  a  look 
of  general  knowingness,  started  up  close  at  Miss  Hender 
son's  side,  and  interposed,  while  Glory  was  yet  on  her  way. 

"Did  you  say  twenty  miles,  mum?  How  often  could  I 
eome  to  town  ?  " 


FAITH   GAETNET'S    GIRLHOOD.         61 

"  You  have  n't  been  asked  to  go  out  of  town,  that  I  kno\v 
of,"  replied  Miss  Henderson,  frigidly,  abashing  the  office- 
habitue,  who  had  not  been  used  to  find  her  catechism  cut 
to  summarily  short,  and  moving  aside  to  speak  with  Glory. 

"  What  was  it  I  heard  you  say  just  now  ?  " 

"I  didn't  mean  to  speak  out  so,  mum.  It  was  only 
what  I  mostly  thinks.  That  there 's  always  lots  of  good 
times  in  the  world,  only  I  aint  never  in  "em." 

"And  you  thought  it  would  be  good  times,  did  you,  to 
go  off  twenty  miles  into  the  country,  to  live  alone  with  an 
old  woman  like  me  ?  " 

Miss  Henderson's  tone  softened  kindly  to  the  rough,  un 
couth  girl,  and  encouraged  her  to  confidence. 

"  Well,  you  see,  mum,  I  should  like  so  to  go  where  things 
is  green  and  pleasant.  I  lived  in  the  country  once,  —  ever 
so  long  ago,  —  when  I  was  a  little  girl." 

Miss  Henderson  could  not  help  a  smile  that  was  half 
amused,  and  wholly  pitiful,  as  she  looked  in  the  face  of  this 
creature  of  fourteen,  so  strange  and  earnest,  with  its  out 
line  of  fuzzy,  cropped  hair,  and  heard  her  talk  of  "  ever  so 
long  ago." 

"There's  only  just  the  Common  here,  you  know,  mum. 
And  that 's  when  all  the  chores  is  done.  And  you  can't  go 
nn  the  grass,  either." 

"Are  you  strong?" 

"  Yes'm.     I  aint  never  sick." 

"  And  willing  to  work? " 

"  Yes'm.     Jest  as  much  as  I  know  how." 

"  And  want  to  learn  more  ?  " 

"  Yes  'm.  I  don't  know  as  I  'd  know  enough  hardly,  to 
l)egin,  though." 

"  Can  you  wash  dishes  ?  And  sweep  ?  And  set  table  ? " 
6 


62        FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

To  each  of  these  queries  Glory  successively  interposed  an 
affirmative  monosyllable,  adding,  gratuitously,  at  the  close, 
"  And  tend  baby,  too,  real  good."  Her  eyes  filled,  as  she 
thought  of  the  Grubbling  baby  with  the  love  that  always 
grows  for  that  whereto  one  has  sacrificed  one's  self. 

"  You  won't  have  any  babies  to  tend.  Time  enough  for 
that  when  you  've  learnt  plenty  of  other  things.  Who  do 
you  belong  to  ?  " 

"  I  don't  belong  to  anybody,  mum.  Father,  and  mother, 
and  grandmother  is  all  dead.  I  've  done  the  chores  and 
tended  baby  up  at  Mrs.  Grubbling's  ever  since.  That 's  in 
Budd  Street.  I  'm  staying  now  in  High  Street,  with  Mrs. 
Foye.  Number  fifteen." 

"  I  '11  come  after  you  to-morrow.  Have  your  things  ready 
to  go  right  off." 

"I'm  so  glad  you  took  her,  auntie,"  said  Faith,  as  they 
went  out.  "  She  looks  as  if  she  hadn't  been  well  treated. 
Think  of  her  wanting  so  to  go  into  the  country !  I  should 
like  to  do  something  for  her,  myself." 

"That's  my  business,"  answered  Aunt  Faith,  curtly, 
but  not  crossly.  "  You  '11  find  somebody  to  do  for,  if  you 
look  out.  If  your  mother's  willing,  though,  you  might 
mend  up  one  of  your  old  school  dresses  for  her.  'Tis  n't 
likely  she's  got  anything  to  begin  with."  And  so  saying, 
Aunt  Faith  turned  precipitately  into  a  dry-goods  store, 
where  she  bought  a  large  plaid  woolen  shawl,  and  twelve 
yards  of  dark  calico.  Coming  out,  she  darted  as  suddenly, 
and  apparently  unpremeditatedly,  across  the  street  into  a 
milliner's  shop,  and  ordered  home  a  brown  rough-and-ready 
straw  bonnet,  and  four  yards  of  ribbon  to  match. 

"And  that  you  can  put  on,  too,"  she  said  to  Faith. 

That  evening,   Faith  was  even  unwontedly  cheery  and 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.         63 

busy,  taking  a  burned  balf-breadth  out  of  a  dark  cashmere 
dress,  darning  it  at  the  armhole,  and  pinning  the  plain  rib 
bon  over  the  brown  straw  bonnet 

At  the  same  time,  Glory,  all  unconscious  of  the  great 
things  preparing  for  her,  went  up  across  the  city  to  Budd 
Street,  with  a  mingled  heaviness  and  gladness  at  her  heart, 
and,  after  a  kindly  farewell  interview  with  good-natured 
Katie  Ryan  at  the  Pembertons'  -  green  gate,  rang,  with  a 
half  guilty  feeling  at  her  own  independence,  at  the  Grub- 
blings'  door.  "  Bubby  "  opened  it 

"Why,  ma!  "  he  shouted  up  the  staircase,  "it's  Glory 
come  back !  " 

"  I  've  come  to  .get  my  bundle,"  said  the  girl. 

Mrs.  Grabbling  had  advanced  to  the  stair-head,  some 
what  briskly,  with  the  wakeful  baby  in  her  arms.     Two 
days'   "tending"  had  greatly  mollified  her  sentiments  to 
ward  the  offending  Glory. 

"  And  she 's  come  to  get  her  bundle,"  added  the  young 
usher,  from  below. 

Mrs.  Grabbling  retreated  into  her  chamber,  and  shut 
herself  and  the  baby  in. 

Poor  Glory  crept  up  stairs  to  her  little  attic,  like  a  house 
breaker. 

Coming  down  again,  she  set  her  bundle  on  the  stairs,  and 
knocked. 

"  What  is  it?  "  was  the  ungracious  response. 

"Please,  mum,  mightn't  I  say  good-bye  to  the  baby?" 

The  latch  had  slipped,  and  the  door  was  already  slight]  j 
ajar.  Baby  heard  the  accustomed  voice,  and  struggled  in 
his  mother's  arms. 

"A  pretty  time  to  come  disturbing  him  to  do  itl" 
grumbled  she.  Nevertheless,  she  set  the  babj  on  the  floor, 


64         FAITH    GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

who  tottled  out,  and  was  seized  by  Glory,  standing  there  in 
the  dark  entry,  and  pressed  close  in  her  poor,  long- wearied, 
faithful  arms. 

"  Oh,  baby,  baby !     I  'm  in  it  now !     And  I  don't  know 
rightly  whether  it 's  a  good  time  or  not  1 " 


CHAPTER  VH. 

CARES;  AND  WHAT  CAME  OP  THEM. 

"  To  speed  to-day,  to  be  put  back  to-morrow  ; 
To  feed  on  hope,  to  pine  with  feare  and  sorrow  4 

To  fret  thy  soul  with  crosses  and  with  cares  ; 
To  eate  thy  heart  through  comfortlesse  dispaire* 


Two  years  and  more  had  passed  since  the  New  Year's 
dance  at  the  Ilusbleighs'. 

The  crisis  of  '57  and  '58  was  approaching  its  culmina 
tion.  The  great  earthquake  that  for  months  had  been 
making  itself  heard  afar  off  by  its  portentous  rumbling 
was  heaving  to  the  final  crash.  Already  the  weaker  houses 
had  fallen  and  were  forgotten.  The  statelier  edifices  were 
tottering  and  crumbling  on  every  side.  Men  saw  great  cracks 
and  fissures  opening  at  their  feet,  and  hardly  dared  move  to 
the  right  hand  or  to  the  left.  All  through  the  great  city, 
when  the  pavements  were  still  at  nighc,  and  the  watchmen 
paced  their  quiet  rounds,  who  might  count  the  chambers 
where  lay  sleepless  heads,  revolving  feverishly  the  ways  and 
means  for  the  morrow  ?  Ah  !  God  only  knows  the  life  that 
wakes  and  struggles  when  the  outer,  daily,  noisy  life  of  a 
great  metropolis  is  laid  asleep  ! 

When  a  great  financial  trouble   sweeps  down  upon  a 
people,  there  are  three  general  classes  who  receive  and  feel 
it,  each  in  its  own  peculiar  way. 
6* 


66        FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

There  are  the  great  capitalists,  —  the  enormously  rich,  — 
who,  unless  a  tremendous  combination  of  adversities  shall 
utterly  ruin  here  and  there  one,  grow  the  richer  yet  for  the 
calamities  of  their  neighbors.  There  are  also  the  very  poor, 
who  have  nothing  to  lose  but  their  daily  labor  and  their  daily 
bread,  —  who  may  suffer  and  starve  ;  but  who,  if  by  any 
little  saving  of  a  better  time  they  can  manage  just  to  buj 
bread,  shall  be  precisely  where  they  were,  practically,  when 
the  storm  shall  have  blown  over.  Between  these  lies  the  great 
middle  class,  —  among  whom,  as  on  the  middle  ground,  the 
world's  great  battle  is  continually  waging,  —  of  persons  who 
are  neither  rich  nor  poor ;  who  have  neither  secured  for 
tunes  to  fall  back  upon,  nor  yet  the  independence  of  their 
hands  to  turn  to,  when  business  and  its  income  fail.  This 
is  the  class  that  suffers  most.  Most  keenly  in  apprehension, 
in  mortification,  in  after  privation. 

Of  this  class  was  the  Gartney  family. 

Mr.  Gartney  was  growing  pale  and  thin.  No  wonder ; 
with  sleepless  nights,  and  harassed  days,  and  forgotten,  or 
unrelished  meals.  His  wife  watched  him  and  waited  for 
him,  and  contrived  special  comforts  for  him,  and  listened 
to  his  confidences,  and  turned  in  her  brain  numberless  plans 
and  possibilities  within  her  limited  sphere  of  action. 

This  is  what  women  do  when  the  world  "  on  'change  "  ia 
seething,  and  tossing,  and  agonizing  in  the  clutch  of  a  great 
commercial  crisis. 

Faith  felt  that  there  was  a  cloud  upon  the  house,  and 
knew  that  it  had  to  do  with  money.  So  she  hid  her  own 
little  wants  as  long  as  she  could,  wore  her  old  ribbons, 
mended  last  year's  discarded  gloves,  and  yearned  vaguely 
and  helplessly  to  do  something,  —  some  great  thing  if  she 
only  could,  that  might  remedy  or  help. 


FAITH   GARTNEI  S   GIRLHOOD.        67 

Once,  she  thought  she  would  learn  Stenography.  Sha 
had  heard  somebody  speak  one  day  of  the  great  pay  a  lady 
short-hand-writer  had  received  at  Washington,  for  some 
Congressional  reports.  Why  should  n't  she  learn  how  to  do 
it,  and  perhaps,  some  time  or  other,  if  the  terrible  worst 
should  ever  come  to  the  worst,  make  known  her  secret 
resource,  and  earn  enough  for  all  the  family  ? 

Something  like  this,  —  some  "  high  and  holy  work  ol 
love," — she  longed  to  do.  Longed  almost, — if  she  were  once 
prepared  and  certain  of  herself,  —  for  even  misfortune  that 
should  justify  and  make  practicable  her  generous  purpose. 

She  got  an  elementary  book,  and  set  to  work,  by  herself. 
She  toiled  wearily,  every  day,  at  such  times  as  she  could 
command,  for  nearly  a  month ;  despairing  at  every  step,  yet 
persevering ;  for,  beside  the  grand  dream  for  the  future, 
there  was  a  present  fascination  in  the  queer  little  scrawls 
and  dots,  the  mystic  keys  to  such  voluminous  meaning,  that 
held  her  interested,  of  itself. 

Well,  and  how  did  it  all  end  ? 

She  did  n't  master  the  short-hand  art,  of  course.  Every 
body  knows  that  is  a  work  for  patient  years.  It  cannot  be 
known  how  long  she  might  have  gone  on  with  the  attempt, 
if  her  mother  had  not  come  to  her  one  day  with  some  par 
cels  of  cut-out  cotton  cloth. 

"  Faithie,  dear,"  said  she,  deprecatingly,  "  I  don't  like 
to  put  such  work  upon  you  while  you  go  to  school :  but  you 
have  a  good  deal  of  leisure  time,  after  all ;  and  I  ought  not 
to  afford  to  have  Miss  McElroy  this  spring.  Can't  you 
make  up  some  of  these  with  me  before  the  summer  ?  " 

They  were  articles  of  clothing  for  Faith,  herself.  She 
felt  the  present  duty  upon  her ;  and  how  could  she  rebel  ? 
Yet  what  was  to  become  of  the  gieat  scheme  and  the  heroic 


68        FAITH   GARTNET'S   GIRLHOOD. 

future?  She  couldn't  help  thinking  —  if  her  mother  had 
only  known  how  this  leisure  of  hers  was  really  being  used, 
would  she  have  brought  her  all  this  cotton  to  stitch  ? 

What  then?  Could  she  never  do  anything  better  than 
this  ?  Meantime,  the  stitching  must  be  done. 

By-and-by  would  come  vacation,  and  in  the  following 
spring,  at  furthest,  she  would  leave  school,  and  then — she 
would  see.  She  would  write  a  book,  may  be.  Why  not?  And 
secretly  dispose  of  it,  for  a  large  sum,  to  some  self-regardles? 
publisher.  Should  there  never  be  another  Fanny  Burney  ? 
Not  a  novel,  Chough,  or  any  grown-up  book,  at  first ;  but  a 
juvenile,  at  least,  she  could  surely  venture  on.  Look  at  all 
the  Cousin  Maries,  and  Aunt  Fannies,  and  Sister  Alices, 
whose  productions  piled  the  booksellers'  counters  during  the 
holiday  sales,  and  found  their  way,  sooner  or  later,  into  all 
the  nurseries,  and  children's  bookcases  1  And  think  of  all 
the  stories  she  had  invented  to  amuse  Hendie  with !  Better 
than  some  of  these  printed  ones,  she  was  quite  sure,  if  only 
she  could  set  them  down  just  as  she  had  spoken  them  under 
the  inspiration  of  Hendie's  eager  eyes  and  ready  glee. 

She  made  two  or  three  beginnings,  during  the  summer 
holidays,  but  always  came  to  some  sort  of  a  "  sticking- 
place,"  which  couldn't  be  hobbled  over  in  print  as  in  ver 
bal  relation.  All  the  links  must  be  apparent,  and  every* 
thing  be  made  to  hold  well  together.  She  wouldn't  have 
known  what  they  were,  if  you  had  asked  her,  —  but  the 
"  unities "  troubled  her.  And  then  the  labor  loomed  up 
so  large  before  her !  She  counted  the  lines  in  a  page  of  a 
book  of  the  ordinary  juvenile  size,  and  the  number  of  letters 
in  a  line,  and  found  out  the  wonderful  compression  of  which 
manuscript  is  capable.  And  there  must  be  tw*  hundred 
pages,  at  least,  to  make  a  book  of  tolerable  size 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.        69 

She  remembered  how  her  elder  brother,  now  away  off  in 
San  Francisco,  had  told  her  once,  when  she  was  a  very  little 
girl,  that  he  was  going  to  make  her  a  baby-house.  Such  a 
wonderful  baby-house  as  it  was  to  be!  It  should  have 
three  stories,  and  the  proper  number  of  furnished  rooms  in 
each,  and  doll  inhabitants,  likewise,  of  marvellous  wiry 
-  mechanism,  that  should  move  and  walk  about.  (Long  be 
fore  the  Peripatetikos,  or  whatever  they  call  the  wind-up 
walking  dolls,  were  thought  of  by  any  older  brain,  mind 
you ! )  And  how  all  he  ever  did  about  it,  when  urged  to 
execution,  was  to  take  his  little  hatchet  out  into  the  wood 
shed  and  chop  away  upon  a  shapeless  log !  Always  making 
a  visionary  beginning,  —  always  unfolding  fascinating  plans, 
—  believing  in  them  devoutly,  and  never  getting  really  and 
fairly  into  the  work!  Ah,  how  we  all  build,  and  build, 
and  make  such  feeble  actual  strokes  toward  completion! 

So  Faithie's  brain-puppets  waited  in  limbo,  and  could 
not  by  any  sorcery  of  hers  be  evoked  from  shade  into  life 
and  action. 

There  seemed  to  be  nothing  in  the  world  that  she  could 
do.  She  could  not  give  her  time  to  charity,  and  go  about 
among  the  poor.  She  had  nothing  to  help  them  with.  Her 
father  gave,  already,  to  ceaseless  applications,  more  than  he 
could  positively  spare.  So  every  now  and  then  she  relin 
quished  in  discouragement  her  aspirations,  and  fell  into  the 
ordinary  channel  again,  and  lived  on,  from  day  to  day,  as 
other  girls  did,  getting  what  pleasure  she  could  ;  hampered 
continually,  however,  with  the  old,  inevitable  tether,  ol 
"can't  afford." 

"  If  something  only  would  happen !  "  If  some  new  cir- 
sumstance  would  creep  into  her  life,  and  open  the  way  for 
a  more  real  living  I 


70        FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

Do  you  think  girls  of  seventeen  don't  have  thoughts  and 
longings  like  these  ?  I  tell  you  they  do ;  and  it  is  n't  that 
they  want  to  have  anybody  else  meet  with  misfortune,  or 
die,  that  romantic  combinations  may  thereby  result  to  them ; 
or  that  they  are  in  haste  to  enact  the  every-day  romance,  — 
to  secure  a  lover,  —  get  married,  —  and  set  up  a  life  of  their 
own ;  it  is  that  the  ordinary  marked-out  bound  of  civilized 
young-lady  existence  is  so  utterly  inadequate  to  the  fresh, 
vigorous,  expanding  nature,  with  its  noble  hopes,  and  its 
Apprehension  of  limitless  possibilities. 

Something  did  happen. 

"Winter  came  on  again.  After  a  twelvemonth  of  struggle 
ind  pain  such  as  none  but  a  harassed  man  of  business  can 
tver  know  or  imagine,  Mr.  Gartney  found  himself  "  out 
of  the  wood,"  and  safe,  as  it  were,  in  open  country  once 
more ;  but  stripped,  and  torn,  and  bruised,  and  weary,  and 
seeing  no  path  before  him  over  the  wide,  waste  moor. 

He  had  survived  the  shock,  —  his  last  note  was  taken 
up,  —  he  had  labored  through,  —  and  that  was  all.  He 
was  like  a  man  from  off  a  wreck,  who  has  brought  away 
nothing  but  his  life. 

He  came  home  one  morning  from  New  York,  whither  he 
had  been  to  attend  a  meeting  of  creditors  of  a  failed  firm, 
and  went  straight  to  his  chamber  with  a  raging  headache. 

The  next  day,  the  physician's  chaise  was  at  the  door,  and 
on  the  landing,  where  Mrs.  Gartney  stood,  pale  and  anxious, 
gazing  into  his  face  for  a  word,  after  the  visit  to  the  sick 
room  was  over,  Dr.  Gracie  drew  on  his  gloves,  and  said  to 
ber,  with  one  foot  on  the  stair,  —  "  Symptoms  of  typhoid. 
Keep  him  absolutely  quiet." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A  NICHB   IN    LIFE,    AND   A   WOMAN   TO   MIL   IT. 

"  A  Traveller  between  Life  and  Death." 

WORDSWORTH. 

Miss  SAMPSON  was  at  home  this  evening.  It  was  not 
what  one  would  have  pictured  to  one's  self  as  a  scene  of 
home  comfort  or  enjoyment ;  but  Miss  Sampson  was  at 
home.  In  her  little  room  of  fourteen  feet  square,  up  a 
dismal  flight  of  stairs,  sitting,  in  the  light  of  a  single  lamp, 
by  her  air-tight  stove,  whereon  a  cup  of  tea  was  keeping 
warm  ;  that,  and  the  open  newspaper  on  the  little  table  in 
the  corner,  being  the  only  things  in  any  way  cheery  about 
her. 

Not  even  a  cat  or  a  canary-bird  had  she  for  companion 
ship.  There  was  no  cozy  arrangement  for  daily  feminine 
employment ;  no  work-basket,  or  litter  of  spools  and  tapes  ; 
nothing  to  indicate  what  might  be  her  daily  way  of  going 
on.  On  the  broad  ledges  of  the  windows,  where  any  other 
woman  would  have  had  a  plant  or  two,  there  was  no  array 
of  geraniums  or  verbenas —  not  even  a  seedling  orange-tree 
ur  a  monthly-rose.  But  in  one  of  them  lay  a  plaid  shawl 
and  a  carpet-bag,  and  in  the  other  that  peculiar  and  nearly 
obsolete  piece  of  feminine  property,  a  paper  bandbox,  tied 
about  with  tape. 


72        FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

—  Packed  up  for  a  journey? 

Beader,  Miss  Sampson  was  always  packed  up.  She  was 
that  much-enduring,  all-foregoing  creature,  a  professional 
nurse. 

There  would  have  been  no  one  to  feed  a  cat,  or  a  canary- 
bird,  or  to  water  a  rose-hush,  if  she  had  had  one.  Her 
home  was  no  more  to  her  than  his  station  at  the  corner  of 
the  street  is  to  the  handcart-man  or  the  hackney-coachman. 
It  was  only  the  place  where  she  might  receive  orders . 
whence  she  might  go  forth  to  the  toilsomeness  and  gloom 
of  one  sick-room  after  another,  returning  between  each 
sally  and  the  next  to  her  cheerless  post  of  waiting,  —  keep 
ing  her  strength  for  others,  and  living  no  life  of  her  own. 
She  dwelt,  as  it  were,  in  the  dim  and  desolate  border-land 
that  lies  between  the  stirring  world  and  the  unconscious 
grave  ;  now  going  down  into  the  verge  of  the  infinite  gloom 
with  one  who  must  pass  beyond  it,  and  now  upholding  and 
helping  one  who  struggles  back  to  the  light  of  earth  ;  but 
never  tarrying  long  herself  among  the  living  and  the  strong. 

There  was  nothing  in  Miss  Sampson's  outer  woman  that 
would  give  you,  at  first  glance,  an  idea  of  her  real  energy 
and  peculiar  force  of  character.  She  was  a  tall  and  slender 
figure,  with  no  superfluous  weight  of  flesh  ;  and  her  loug, 
thin  arms  seemed  to  have  grown  long  and  wiry  with  lifting, 
and  easing,  and  winding  about  the  poor  wrecks  of  mortality 
that  had  lost  their  own  vigor,  and  were  fain  to  beg  a  portion 
of  hers.  Her  face  was  thin  and  rigid,  too,  —  moulded  to 
no  mere  graces  of  expression,  —  but  with  a  strong  outline, 
and  a  habitual  compression  about  the  mouth  that  told  you, 
when  you  had  once  learned  somewhat  of  its  meaning,  of  the 
firm  will  that  would  go  straight  forward  to  its  object,  and 
do,  without  parade  or  delay,  whatever  there  might  be  to  be 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.         73 

done.  Decision,  determination,  judgment,  and  readiness 
were  all  in  that  habitual  look  of  a  face  on  which  little  else 
had  been  called  out  for  years.  But  you  would  not  so  have 
read  it  at  first  sight.  You  would  almost  inevitably  have 
called  her  a  "  scrawny,  sour-looking  old  maid." 

A  croaking,  deliberate,  weighty  step  was  heard  upon  the 
atair,  and  then  a  knock  of  decision  at  Miss  Sampson's  door. 

"  Come  in  !  " 

And  as  she  spoke,  Miss  Sampson  took  her  cup  and  saucer 
in  her  hand.  That  was  to  be  kept  waiting  no  longer  for 
whatever  visitor  it  might  chance  to  be.  She  was  compos 
edly  taking  her  first  sip  as  Doctor  Gracie  entered. 

"  Don't  move,  Miss  Sampson  ;  don't  let  me  interrupt." 

"  I  don't  mean  to ! "  answered  the  nurse,  laconically 
"  What  sends  you  here  ?  " 

"  A  new  patient" 

"  Humph !  Not  one  of  the  last  sort,  I  hope.  You  know 
my  kind,  and  't  aint  any  use  talking  up  about  any  others. 
Any  old  woman  can  make  gruel,  and  feed  a  baby  with  cat 
nip  tea.  Don't  offer  me  any  more  such  work  as  that !  If 
it's  work  that  is  work,  speak  out !  —  I 'm  always  ready." 

"It's  work  that  nobody  else  can  do  for  me.  A  critical 
case  of  typhoid,  and  nobody  in  the  house  that  understands 
such  illness.  I  've  promised  to  bring  you  to-night." 

"  You  knew  I  was  back,  then  ?  " 

"  I  knew  you  would  be.  I  only  sent  you  at  the  pinch. 
I  warned  them  you  'd  go  as  soon  as  things  were  tolerably 
comfortable." 

"Of  course  I   would.      What  business  should  I  have 
where  there  was  nothing  wanted  of  me  but  to  go  to  bed  at 
nine  o'clock,  and  sleep  till  daylight  ?     That  aint  the  sort 
•f  corner  I  was  cut  out  to  fill." 
7 


74        FAITH    GARTNEY 'S   GIRLHOOD. 

"  Well,  drink  your  tea,  and  put  on  your  bonnet  There  'a 
a  carriage  at  the  door." 

'•  Man?  or  woman ?  "  asked  Miss  Sampson,  setting  down 
her  empty  cup  on  the  now  cooling  stove. 

"  A  man,  —  Mr.  Henderson  Gartney,  Hickory  Street" 

"  Out  of  his  head  ?  " 

"  Yes,  —  and  getting  more  so.  Family  all  frightened  to 
death." 

"  Keep  'em  out  of  my  way,  then,  and  let  me  have  him  to 
myself.  One  crazy  patient  is  enough,  at  a  time,  for  any  one 
pair  of  hands.  I  'm  ready." 

The  plaid  shawl  and  bonnet  were  on,  and  Miss  Sampson 
had  her  bandbox  in  her  hand.  The  doctor  took  up  the  car 
pet-bag. 

In  fifteen  minutes  more,  they  were  in  Hickory  Street ; 
and  the  nurse  was  speedily  installed,  or  rather  installed 
herself,  in  her  office.  Dr.  Gracie  hastened  away  to  another 
patient,  promising  to  call  again  at  bedtime. 

"  Now,  ma'am,"  said  Miss  Sampson  to  Mrs.  Gartney, 
who,  after  taking  her  first  to  the  bedside  of  the  patient,  had 
withdrawn  with  her  to  the  little  dressing-room  -Adjoining, 
and  given  her  a  resume,  of  the  treatment  thus  far  followed, 
with  the  doctor's  last  directions  to  herself,  —  "  yva  just  go 
down  stairs  to  your  supper.  I  know,  by  your  looks,  you  aint 
had  a  mouthful  to-day.  That 's  no  way  to  help  take  care 
of  sick  folks." 

Mrs.  Gartney  smiled  a  little,  feebly ;  and  an  expression 
of  almost  childlike  rest  and  relief  came  over  her  face.  She 
felt  herself  in  strong  hands. 

"  And  you?"  she  asked.  "  Shall  I  send  yo^  something 
here?" 

"  I  've  drunk  a  cup  of  tea,  before  I  started.      S.  I  see  my 


FATTH  GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.         75 

way  clear,  I  '11  run  down  for  a  bite  after  you  get  through. 
I  don't  want  any  special  providings.  I  take  my  nibbles 
anyhow,  as  I  go  along.  You  need  n't  mind,  more  'n  as  if  I 
was  n't  here.  I  shall  find  my  way  all  over  the  house,  and 
pick  up  what 's  necessary.  Now,  you  go." 

"  Only  tell  me  how  he  seems  to  you,"  questioned  Mrs. 
Gartney,  lingering  anxiously. 

"  Well,  —  not  so  terrible  sick.  Just  barely  bad  enough 
to  keep  me  here.  I  don't  take  any  easy  cases." 

The  odd,  abrupt  manner  and  speech  comforted,  while 
they  somewhat  astonished  Mrs.  Gartney.  Only  that  she 
relt  sure  Dr.  Gracie  would  have  brought  her  no  one  but  the 
very  person  who  ought  to  be  here,  she  would  have  hardly 
known  what  to  think  of  this  rough-spoken,  unceremonious 
woman. 

"Leave  the  bread  and  butter  and  cold  chicken  on  the 
table,"  said  she  to  her  parlor  maid  afterward,  when  the  tea- 
things  were  about  to  be  removed ;  "  and  keep  the  chocolate 
hot,  down  stairs.  Faithie,  —  sit  here  ;  and  if  Miss  Sampson 
comes  down  by-and-by,  see  that  she  is  made  comfortable." 

It  was  ten  o'clock  when  Miss  Sampson  came  down,  and 
then  it  was  with  Dr.  Gracie,  who  had  just  made  his  last 
visit  for  the  night. 

"  Cheer  up,  little  lady !  "  said  the  doctor,  meeting  Faith's 
anxious,  inquiring  glance  that  sped  so  quickly  and  eagerly 
from  one  face  to  the  other.  "Not  so  bad,  by  any  means, 
as  we  might  be.  The  only  difficulty  will  be  to  keep  Nurse 
Sampson  here.  She  won't  stay  a  minute,  if  we  begin  to  get 
better  too  fast.  Yes — I  will  take  a  bit  of  chicken,  1 
think;  and  —  what  have  you  there  that's  hot?"  as  the 
maid  came  in  with  the  chocolate  pot,  in  answer  to  Faith's 
ring  of  the  bell.  "Ah,  yes!  Chocolate!  I  missed  my 


76         FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

tea,  somehow,  to-night."  The  "somehow"  had  been  in 
hia  kindly  quest  of  the  best  nurse  in  Mishaumok  for  his 
long-time  friend  and  patient. 

"  Sit  down,  Miss  Sampson.  Save  muscle,  when  you  can. 
Let  me  help  you  to  a  scrap  of  cold  chicken.  T7hat?  Drum 
stick  !  Miss  Faithie,  —  here  is  a  woman  who  makes  it  a 
principle  to  go  through  the  world,  choosing  drumsticks! 
She 's  a  study ;  and  I  set  you  to  finding  her  out." 

So  the  doctor  chatted  on,  for  the  ten  minutes  of  his  fur- 
cher  stay,  and  then  took  leave,  ordering  Faith  off  to  bed,  as 
he  departed. 

Last  night,  as  he  had  told  Miss  Sampson,  the  family  had 
been  "  frightened  to  death."  He  had  found  Faith  sitting 
on  the  front  stairs,  at  midnight,  when  he  came  in  at  a  sud 
den  summons,  severer  symptoms  having  declared  themselves 
in  the  sick  man.  She  was  pale  and  shivering,  and  caught 
him  nervously  by  both  hands,  as  he  ascended. 

"Oh,  doctor!" 

"  And  oh,  Miss  Faithie !  This  is  no  place  for  you.  "You 
ought  to  be  in  bed." 

"But I  can't.  Mother  is  all  alone,  except  Mahala.  And 
I  don't  dare  stay  up  there,  either.  What  shall  we  do? 

For  all  answer,  the  doctor  had  just  taken  her  in  his  arms, 
and  carried  her  down  to  the  sofa  in  the  hall,  where  he  laid 
her,  and  covered  her  over  with  his  great-coat.  There  she 
staid,  passively,  till  he  came  back.  And  then  he  told  her, 
kindly  and  gravely,  that  if  she  could  be  quite  quiet,  and 
firm,  she  might  go  and  lie  on  the  sofa  in  her  mother's 
dressing-room  for  the  remainder  of  the  night,  to  be  at  hand 
tor  any  needed  service.  To-morrow  he  would  see  that  they 
were  otherwise  provided. 

And  so,  to-night,  here  was  Miss  Sampson  eating  hei 
drumstick. 


FAITH  GARTNJEY'S   GIRLHOOD.         77 

Faith  watched  the  hard  lines  of  her  face  as  she  did  so, 
and  wondered  what,  and  how  much  Dr.  Gracie  had  meant 
by  "  setting  her  to  find  her  out." 

"  I  'm  afraid  you  have  n't  had  a  very  nice  supper,"  said 
she,  timidly.  "  Do  you  like  that  best?  " 

"  Somebody  must  always  eat  drumsticks,"  was  the  con 
cise  reply. 

And  so,  presently,  without  any  farther  advance  toward 
acquaintance,  they  w™t  up  stairs :  and  the  house,  under 
the  new,  energetic  rule,  soon  subsided  into  quiet  for  the 
nigH. 

7* 


CHAPTER  IX. 

LIFE   OK   DEATH  V 
*•  With  God  the  Lord  belong  the  issues  from  death." — Ps.  68 ;  14 

THE  nursery  was  a  corner  room,  opening  both  into  Faith's 
%nd  her  mother's.  Hendie  and  Mahala  Harris  had  been 
removed  up  stairs,  and  the  apartment  was  left  at  Miss 
Sampson's  disposal.  Mrs.  Gartney's  bed  had  been  made 
up  in  the  little  dressing-room  at  the  head  of  the  front 
entry,  so  that  she  and  the  nurse  had  the  sick-room  between 
them. 

Faith  came  down  the  two  steps  that  led  from  her  room 
into  the  nursery,  the  next  night  at  bedtime,  as  Miss  Samp 
son  entered  from  her  father's  chamber  to  put  on  her  night 
wrapper  and  make  ready  for  her  watch. 

"  How  is  he,  nurse  ?  He  will  get  well,  won't  he  ?  What 
does  the  doctor  say  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  said  Miss  Sampson,  shortly.  "  He  don't 
know,  and  he  don't  pretend  to.  And  that 's  just  what 
proves  he  's  good  for  something.  He  aint  one  of  the  sort 
that  comes  into  a  sick-room  as  if  the  Almighty  had  made 
him  a  kind  of  special  delegit,  and  left  the  whole  concern  to 
him.  He  knows  there 's  a  solemner  dealing  there  than  his, 
whether  it's  for  life  or  death." 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.         79 

" But  he  can't  help  thinking"  said  Faith,  tremblingly. 
"And  1  wish  I  knew.  What  do  you — ?"  But  Faith 
paused,  for  she  was  afraid,  after  all.  to  finish  the  question, 
and  to  hear  it  answered, 

"  I  don't  think.  I  just  keep  doing.  That 's  my  part. 
Folks  that  think  too  much  of  what 's  a-coming,  most  likely 
won't  attend  to  what  there  is." 

Faith  >vas  finding  out,  —  a  little  of  Miss  Sampson,  and 
a  good  deal  of  herself.  Had  she  not  thought  too  much  of 
what  might  be  coming?  Had  she  not  missed,  perhaps, 
some  of  her  own  work,  when  that  work  was  easier  than 
DOW  ?  And  how  presumptuously  she  had  wished  for  "  some 
thing  to  happen !  "  Was  God  punishing  her  for  that  ? 

"You  just  keep  still,  and  patient,  —  and  wait,"  said 
Miss  Sampson,  noting  the  wistful  look  of  pain.  "That's 
your  work,  and  after  all,  maybe  it 's  the  hardest  kind.  And 
I  can't  take  it  off  folks'  shoulders,"  added  she  to  herself  in 
an  under- voice  ;  "  so  I  need  n't  set  up  for  the  very  toughest 
jobs,  to  be  sure." 

"  I  '11  try,"  answered  Faith,  submissively,  with  quivering 
lip,  "only  if  there  should  be  anything  that  I  could  do, — 
to  sit  up,  or  anything,  —  you  '11  let  me,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  will,"  replied  the  nurse,  cheerily.  "  I 
shan't  be  squeamish  about  asking  when  there 's  anything  I 
really  want  done." 

Faith  moved  toward  the  door  that  opened  to  her  father's 
room.  It  was  ajar.  She  pushed  it  gently  open,  and  paused. 
"  I  may  go  in,  may  n't  I,  nurse,  just  for  a  goxl-night  look  ?  " 

The  sick  man  heard  her  voice,  though  he  did  not  catch 
her  words. 

'    "  Come  in,  Faithie,"  said  he,  with  one  of  his  half-gleams 
of  consciousness,  "  I  '11  see  you,  daughter,  as  long  as  I  live." 


80        FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

Faith's  heart  nearly  broke  at  that,  and  she  came,  tea? 
fully  and  silently,  to  the  bed  side,  and  laid  her  little,  cooi 
hand  on  her  father's  fevered  one,  and  looked  down  on  his 
face,  worn,  and  suffering,  and  flushed,  —  and  thought  within 
herself,  —  it  was  a  prayer  and  vow  unspoken,  —  "Oh,  it 
God  will  only  let  him  live,  I  will  Jind  something  that  I  can 
do  for  him  !  " 

And  then  she  lifted  the  linen  cloth  that  was  laid  over  his 
forehead,  and  dipped  it  afresh  in  the  bowl  of  ice-water  be 
side  the  bed,  and  put  it  gently  back,  and  just  kissed  his 
nair  softly,  and  went  out  into  her  own  room. 

Three  nights  —  three  days  —  more,  the  fever  raged. 
And  on  the  fourth  night  after,  Faith  and  her  mother  knew, 
by  the  scrupulous  care  with  which  the  doctor  gave  minute 
directions  for  the  few  hours  to  come,  and  the  resolute  way 
in  which  Miss  Sampson  declared  that  "whoever  else  had  a 
mind  to  watch,  she  should  sit  up  till  morning  this  time," 
that  the  critical  point  was  reached ;  that  these  dark,  silent 
moments  that  would  flit  by  so  fast,  were  to  spell,  as  they 
passed  by,  the  sentence  of  life  or  death. 

And  so  the  midnight  settled  down  upon  the  street  and 
city,  crowded  full  of  human  thought,  and  hope,  and  fear, 
but  whose  vital  centre  to  them  was  all  in  that  one,  dim 
chamber. 

Faith  would  not  be  put  by.  Her  mother  sat  on  one  side 
the  bed,  while  the  nurse  busied  herself  noiselessly,  or  waited, 
motionless,  upon  the  other.  Down  by  the  fireside,  on  a  low 
stool,  with  her  head  on  the  cushion  of  an  easy-chair,  leaned 
the  young  girl,  —  her  heart  full,  and  every  nerve  strained 
with  emotion  and  suspense. 

She  will  never  know,  precisely,  how  those  hours  went  on. 
Sb.3  can  remember  the  low  breathing  from  the  bed,  and 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.         81 

the  now  and  then  half-distinct  utterance,  as  the  brain  wan 
dered  still  in  a  dreamy,  feverish  maze  ;  and  she  never  will 
forget  the  precise  color  and  pattern  of  the  calico  wrapper 
that  Nurse  Sampson  wore ;  but  she  can  recollect  nothing 
else  of  it  all,  except  that,  after  a  time,  longer  or  shorter, 
she  glanced  up,  fearfully,  as  a  strange  hush  seemed  to  have 
come  over  the  room,  and  met  a  look  an  J  gesture  of  the  nurse 
that  warned  her  down  again,  for  her  life. 

And  then,  other  hours,  or  minutes,  she  knows  not  which, 
went  by. 

And  then,  a  stir,  —  a  feeble  word,  —  a  whisper  from 
Nurse  Sampson,  —  a  low  "  Thank  G-od ! "  from  her  mother. 

The  crisis  was  passed.     Henderson  Gartney  lived. 


CHAPTER  X. 

ROUGH    ENDS: 


"  So  others  shall 

Take  patience,  labor,  to  their  heart  and  hand, 
From  thy  hand  and  thy  heart,  and  thy  brave  cheer, 
And  God's  grace  fructify  through  thee  to  all." 

MRS.  BROWJOICG. 


"  M.  S.  What  does  that  stand  for  ?  "  said  little  Hendie, 
reading  the  white  letters  painted  on  the  black  leather  bottom 
of  nurse's  carpet-bag.  He  got  back,  now,  often,  in  the  day 
time,  to  his  old  nursery  quarters,  where  his  father  liked  to 
hear  his  chatter  and  play,  for  a  short  time  together,  —  though 
he  still  slept,  with  Mahala,  up  stairs.  "  Does  that  mean 
«  Miss  Sampson  ? '  " 

Faith  glanced  up  from  her  stocking-mending,  with  a  little 
fun  and  a  little  curiosity  in  her  eyes.  She,  too,  had  noted 
the  initials  with  a  sort  of  wondering  thought  whether  they 
could  possibly  mean  anything  else.  Whether  the  stiff,  dry, 
uncompromising  woman  whom  she  daily  saw  going  method 
ically  through  a  round  of  hard  and  wearing  duty,  could 
have  ever  had  a  Christian  name  to  go  by :  could  ever  have 
been  a  little  Mary  or  Margaret.  It  seemed  as  if  she  must 
have  come  into  the  world  tall,  and  straight,  and  pinched, 
and  resolute,  and  gone  to  nursing  sick  people  forthwith. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.         83 

That  she  could  ever  have  lived  a  child  life,  with  nothing  to 
do  but  play,  —  that  was  a  thing  hardly  to  be  believed. 

"  What  does  '  M.'  stand  for?  "  repeated  Hendie. 

The  nurse  was  "  setting  to  rights  "  about  the  room.  She 
turned  round  at  the  question,  from  hanging  a  towel  straight 
over  the  stand,  and  looked  a  little  amazed,  as  if  she  had 
almost  forgotten,  herself.  But  it  came  out,  with  a  quick 
opening  and  shutting  of  the  thin  lips,  like  the  snipping  of 
a  pair  of  scissors,  —  "  Mehitable." 

That  was  not  so  wonderful.  Faith  could  believe  that. 
But  she  knew  it  could  never  have  been  anything  shorter  or 
softer. 

Faith  had  been  greatly  drawn  to  this  odd,  efficient  woman. 
Beside  that  her  skilful,  untiring  nursing  had,  humanly,  been 
the  means  of  saving  her  father's  life,  which  alone  had 
warmed  her  with  an  earnest  gratitude  that  was  restless  to 
prove  itself,  and  that  welled  up  in  every  glance  and  tono 
she  gave  Miss  Sampson,  there  were  a  certain  respect  and 
interest  that  could  not  withhold  themselves  from  one  who 
so  evidently  worked  on  with  a  great  motive  that  dignified 
her  smallest  acts.  In  whom  self-abnegation  was  the  under 
lying  principle  of  all  daily  doing. 

Miss  Sampson  had  staid  on  at  the  Gartneys',  notwith 
standing  the  doctor's  prediction,  and  her  usual  habit.  And, 
in  truth,  her  patient  did  not  "  get  well  too  fast."  She  waa 
needed  now  as  really  as  ever,  though  the  immediate  danger 
which  had  summoned  her  was  past,  and  the  fever  had  gone. 
The  months  of  overstrained  effort  and  anxiety  that  had  cul 
minated  in  its  violent  attack  were  telling  upon  him  now,  in 
the  scarcely  less  perilous  prostration  that  followed.  And 
Mrs.  Gartney  had  quite  given  out  since  the  excessive  ten 
sion  of  nerve  and  feeling  had  relaxed.  She  was  almost  ill 


84         FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

enough  to  be  regularly  nursed  herself.  She  alternated  be 
tween  her  bed  in  the  dressing-room  and  an  easy-chair  oppo 
site  her  husband's,  at  his  fireside.  Miss  Sampson  knew 
when  she  was  really  wanted,  whether  the  emergency  were 
more  or  less  obvious  She  knew  the  mischief  of  a  change 
of  hands  at  such  a  time.  And  so  she  staid  on,  though  she 
did  sleep  comfortably  of  a  night,  and  had  many  an  hour  of 
rest  in  the  daytime,  when  Faith  would  come  into  the  nur 
sery  with  a  book,  or  her  work-basket,  and  constitute  herself 
her  companion. 

Miss  Sampson  was  to  her  like  a  book  to  be  read,  whei^of 
she  turned  but  a  leaf  or  so  at  a  lime,  as  she  had  accidental 
opportunity,  yet  whose  every  page  rendered  up  a 
strong,  — above  all,  a  most  sound  and  healthy  meaning. 

She  turned  over  a  leaf,  one  day,  in  this  wise. 

"  Miss  Sampson,  how  came  you,  at  first,  to  be  a 
nurse?" 

The  shadow  of  some  old  struggle  seemed  to  cadie  ovei 
Miss  Sampson's  face,  as  she  answered,  briefly,  — 

"  I  wanted  to  find  the  very  toughest  sort  of  a  job  to  do." 

Faith  looked  up,  surprised. 

"  But  I  heard  you  tell  my  father  that  you  had  been  nurs 
ing  more  than  twenty  years.  You  must  have  been  quite  a 
young  woman  when  you  began.  I  wonder  —  "  and  here 
Faith  checked  herself,  lest  her  wondering  should  seem  to 
verge  upon  impertinence. 

"  You  wonder  why  I  was  n't  like  most  other  young  \wmcu, 
I  suppose.  Why  I  did  n't  get  married,  perhaps,  and  have 
folks  of  my  own  to  take  care  of?  Well,  I  aid  n't ;  and  the 
Lord  gave  me  a  pretty  plain  indication  that  lie  uad  n't  laid 
out  that  kind  of  a  life  for  me.  So  then  1  j_st  looked  round 
to  find  out  what  better  He  had  for  me  U  do.  And  1  hii 


FAITH   GAUTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.        85 

on  the  very  work  I  wanted.  A  trade  that  it  took  all  the 
old  Sampson  grit  to  follow.  I  made  up  my  mind,  as  the 
doctor  says,  that  somebody  in  the  world  had  got  to  choose 
drumsticks,  and  I  might  as  well  take  hold  of  one." 

"  But  don't  you  ever  get  tired  of  it  all,  and  long  for  some- 
hing  to  rest  or  amuse  you  ?  " 

"  Amuse !  I  could  n't  be  amused,  child.  I  've  been  in  too 
much  awful  earnest  ever  to  be  much  amused  again.  No,  I 
want  to  die  in  the  harness.  It 's  hard  work  I  want.  I 
couldn't  have  been  tied  down  to  a  common,  easy  sort  of  life. 
I  want  something  to  fight  and  grapple  with  ;  and  1  'm 
thankful  there  's  been  a  way  opened  for  me  to  do  good  ac 
cording  to  my  nature.  If  I  had  n't  had  sickness  and  death 
to  battle  against,  I  should  have  got  into  human  quarrels, 
maybe,  just  for  the  sake  of  feeling  ferocious." 

"  And  you  always  take  the  very  worst  and  hardest  cases. 
Doctor  Gracie  says." 

"  What 's  the  use  of  taking  a  tough  job  if  you  don't  face 
the  toughest  part  of  it  ?  I  don't  want  the  comfortable  end 
of  the  business.  Somebody 's  got  to  nurse  small  pox,  and 
yellow  fever,  and  raving-distracted  people  ;  and  I  know  the 
Lord  made  me  fit  to  do  just  that  very  work.  There  aint 
many  that  He  does  make  for  it,  but  I  'm  one.  And  if  I 
shirked,  there  'd  be  a  stitch  dropped." 

"  Yellow  fever !  where  have  you  nursed  that?  " 

"Do  you  suppose  I  didn't  go  to  Norfolk?  I've  nursed 
it,  and  I  've  had  it,  and  nursed  it  again.  I  've  been  in  the 
cholera  hospitals,  too.  I  'm  seasoned  to  most  everything." 

"  Do  you  think  everybody  ought  to  take  the  hardest  thing 
they  can  find,  to  do  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  everybody  ought  to  eat  drumsticks  ?  We'd 
have  to  kill  an  unreasonable  lot  of  fowls  to  let  'em '  No. 

8 


56        FAITH   GARTNET'S    GIRLHOOD. 

The  Lord  portions  out  breast  and  wings,  as  well  as  legs.     If 
He  puts  anything  into  your  plate,  take  it." 

Doctor  Gracie  always  had  a  word  for  the  nurse,  when  he 
came  ;  and,  to  do  her  justice,  it  was  seldom  but  she  had  a 
word  to  give  him  back. 

"  Well,  Miss  Sampson,"  said  he  gayly,  one  bright  morn 
ing,  you  're  as  fresh  as  the  day.  What  pulls  down  other 
folks  seems  to  set  you  up.  I  declare  you  're  as  blooming  as 
—  twenty-five. 

"  You  —  fib  —  like  —  sixty  !  It 's  no  such  thing !  And 
if  it  was,  I  'd  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  it." 

"  Prodigious!  as  your  namesake,  the  Dominie,  would  say. 
Don't  tell  me  a  woman  is  ever  ashamed  of  looking  young, 
or  handsome ! " 

"  Now,  look  here,  Doctor  !"  said  Miss  Sampson,  with  her 
firmest  intonation,  setting  down  a  pitcher  she  had  just  brought 
in,  and  facing  round  to  do  battle,  —  "I  never  was  hand 
some  ;  and  I  thank  the  Lord  He 's  given  me  enough  to  do 
in  the  world  to  wear  off  my  young  looks  long  ago !  And 
any  woman  ought  to  be  ashamed  that  gets  to  be  thirty  and 
upwards,  to  Bay  nothing  of  forty-five,  and  keeps  her  baby 
face  on !  It 's  a  sign  she  aint  been  of  much  account,  any 
how  " 

"  Oh,  but  there  are  always  differences  and  exceptions," 
persisted  the  doctor,  who  liked  nothing  better  than  to  draw 
Miss  Sampson  out.  "  There  are  some  faces  that  take  till 
thirty,  at  least,  to  bring  out  all  their  possibilities  of  good 
looks  and  wear  on,  then,  till  fifty.  I  've  seen  'em.  And 
the  owners  were  no  drones  or  do-nothings,  either.  What  do 
you  say  to  that?" 

"  I  say  there 's  two  ways  of  growing  old.  And  growing 
old  aint  always  growing  ugly.  Somo  folks  grow  old  from 


FAITH  GARTNEY 'S  GIRLHOOD.         87 

the  inside,  out ;  and  some  from  the  outside,  in.  There 's  old 
furniture,  and  there  's  growing  trees !  " 

"  And  the  trunk  that  is  roughest  below  may  branch  out 
greenest  a- top !  "  said  the  doctor. 

But  the  conversation  had  got  as  nearly  into  poetry  as  was 
possible  with  practical  Miss  Sampson,  and  she  broke  it  off, 
or  brought  it  down,  by  saying,  as  she  handed  Mr.  Gartney 
his  port-wine  tonic,  — 

"It's  lucky  we  touched  on  bark,  sir,  or  you  mightn't 
have  got  your  strengthener  to-day  !  " 

The  talk  Faith  heard  now  and  then,  in  her  walks  from 
home,  or  when  some  of  "  the  girls  "  came  in  and  called  her 
down  into  the  parlor,  —  about  pretty  looks,  and  becoming 
dresses,  and  who  danced  with  who  at  the  "German"  last 
night,  and  what  a  scrape  Loolie  Lloyd  had  got  into  with 
mixing  up  and  misdating  her  engagements  at  the  class,  and 
the  last  new  roll  for  the  hair,  —  used  to  seem  rather  trivial 
and  aimless  to  her  in  these  days ! 

Occasionally,  when  Mr.  Gartney  had  what  nurse  called  a 
"  good  "  day,  he  would  begin  to  ask  for  some  of  his  books 
and  papers,  with  a  thought  toward  business ;  and  then  Miss 
Sampson  would  display  her  carpet-bag,  and  make  a  show  of 
picking  up  things  to  put  in  it ;  "  For,"  said  she,  "  when 
you  get  at  your  business,  it  '11  be  high  time  for  me  to  go 
about  mine." 

"  But  only  for  half-an-hour,  nurse !  I  '11  give  you  that 
mu^h  leave  of  absence,  and  then  we  '11  have  things  back 
again  as  they  were  before." 

"  I  guess  you  will !  And  further  than  they  were  be 
fore.  No,  Mr.  Gartney,  you  've  got  to  behave.  I  won't 
have  them  vicious-looking  accounts  about,  and  it  don't 
eignify." 


88         FAITH  GARTNEF'S  GIRLHOOD. 

"  If  it  don't,  why  not?  "  Put  it  ended  in  the  accounts 
and  the  carpet-bag  disappearing  together. 

Until  one  morning,  some  three  weeks  from  the  beginning 
of  Mr.  Gartney 's  illness,  when,  after  a  few  days'  letting 
alone  the  whole  subject,  he  suddenly  appealed  to  the 
doctor. 

"Doctor,"  said  he,  as  that  gentleman  entered,  "  I  must 
have  Braybrook  up  here  this  afternoon.  I  dropped  things 
just  where  I  stood,  you  know.  It 's  time  to  take  an  obser 
vation." 

The  doctor  looked  at  his  patient  gravely.  Apparently, 
he  saw  that  he  must  yield  a  point  for  the  present. 

"  What  must  be,  must,  I  suppose,"  he  said.  But  he 
added  this,  which  startled  Mrs.  Gartney  as  she  heard  it, 
and  set  her  husband  into  an  uneasy  thinking,  for  an  hour 
after  Doctor  Gracie  had  gone. 

"  Can't  you  be  content  with  simply  picking  up  things, 
and  putting  them  by,  for  this  year?  What  I  ought  to 
tell  you  to  do  would  be  to  send  business  to  the  right 
about,  and  go  off  for  an  entire  rest  and  change,  for  three 
months,  at  least." 

"  You  don't  know  what  you  're  talking  about,  doctor !  " 

"  Perhaps  not,  on  one  side  of  the  subject.  I  feel  pretty 
certain  on  the  other,  however." 

Mr.  Gartney  did  not  send  for  Braybrook  that  afternoon. 
The  next  morning  however  he  came,  and  the  tabooed  books 
and  papers  were  got  out. 

In  another  day  or  two,  Miss  Sampson  did  pack  her  car 
pet-bag,  and  go  back  to  her  air-tight  stove  and  solitary  cups 
>f  tea.  Her  occupation  in  Hickory  Street  was  gone. 

Was  this  all  the  Gartneys  were  ever  to  have  in  common 
her  ?  Were  the  lives  that  had  touched,  —  had  coincided 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.        83 

for  a  little  length,  and  gone  together  through  a  deep  experi 
ence,  —  to  separate  and  be  nothing  to  each  othei  henceforth, 
among  all  the  tangle  and  criss-cross  of  human  destiny  and 
purpose  ?  He  who  brings  together  and  divides,  and  never 
without  a  meaning,  knows.  The  lives  had  touched,  — had 
qualified  each  other. 
s* 


CHAPTER  XL 

CROSS  CORNERS. 

"O  thou  that  plnest  In  the  imprisonment  of  the  Actual,  and  criest  bit 
terly  to  the  Gods  for  a  kingdom,  wherein  to  rule  and  create,  know  this  of 
•  truth,  the  thing  thou  seekest  is  already  with  thee, '  here  or  nowhere,' 
oouldstthou  only  see !  "—  CARLYLE. 

"  IT  is  of  no  use  to  talk  about  it,"  said  Mr  Gartney, 
wearily.  "If  I  live, — as  long  as  I  live,  —  I  must  dy 
business.  How  else  are  you  to  get  along  ?  " 

"  How  shall  we  get  along  if  you  do  not  live  ?  "  asked  his 
wife,  in  a  low,  anxious  tone. 

"  My  life 's  insured,"  was  all  Mr.  Gartney's  answer,  after 
a  minute's  pause. 

"  Father ! "  cried  Faith,  distressfully. 

Faith  had  been  taken  more  and  more  into  counsel  and 
confidence  with  her  parents  since  the  time  of  the  illness  that 
had  brought  them  all  so  close  together.  And  more  and 
more  helpful  she  had  grown,  both  in  word  and  doing,  since 
Bhe  had  learned  to  look  daily  for  the  daily  work  set  before 
her,  and  to  perform  it  conscientiously,  even  although  it  COD- 
sisted  only  of  little  things.  She  still  remembered  with  enthu 
siasm  Nurse  Sampson  and  the  "  drumsticks,"  and  managed 
to  piok  up  now  and  then  one  for  herself.  Small  disagree- 
abilities,  to  be  sure,  they  wei  5,  that  she  could  find  to  take 
upon  herself;  but  she  was  leiruing  to  scorn  the  "  comforta 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD,         91 

ble  end  of  a  business."  She  had  taken  in  a  lesson,  — rather 
God  had  sent  her  one,  —  by  the  way,  that  was  to  fit  her  for 
future  greater  doing.  Meantime  she  began  to  see,  indis 
tinctly,  before  her,  the  vision  of  a  work  that  must  be  done 
by  some  one,  and  the  duty  of  it  pressed  hourly  closer  home 
to  herself.  Her  father's  health  had  never  been  fully  re 
established.  He  had  begun  to  use  his  strength  before,  and 
faster  than,  it  came.  There  was  danger,  —  it  needed  no 
Doctor  Gracie,  even,  to  tell  them  so,  —  of  grave  disease,  if 
this  went  on.  And  still,  whenever  urged,  his  answer  was 
the  same.  "  What  would  become  of  his  family  without  his 
business?" 

Faith  turned  these  things  over  and  over  in  her  mind. 

"  Father,"  said  she,  after  a  while,  — the  conversation  ha^- 
ing  been  dropped  at  the  old  conclusion,  and  nobody  appea* 
ing  to  have  anything  more  to  say,  —  "I  don't  know  anything 
about  business ;  but  I  wish  you  'd  tell  me  how  much  money 
you  've  got !  " 

Her  father  laughed ;  a  sad  sort  of  laugh  though,  that 
was  not  so  much  amusement  as  tenderness  and  pity.  Then, 
as  if  the  whole  thing  were  a  mere  joke,  yet  with  a  shade 
upon  his  face  that  betrayed  there  was  far  too  much  truth 
under  the  jest,  after  all,  he  took  out  his  portmonnaie  and 
told  her  to  look  and  see. 

"  You  know  I  don't  mean  that,  father !  How  much  in  the 
bank,  and  everywhere  ?  " 

"  Precious  little  in  the  bank,  now,  Faithie.  Enough  to 
keep  house  with  for  a  year,  nearly,  perhaps.  But  if  I  were 
to  take  it  and  go  off  and  spend  it  in  travelling,  you  can  un 
derstand  that  the  housekeeping  would  fall  short,  can't  you  ?  " 

Faith  looked  horrified.  She  was  bringing  down  her  vague 
ideas  of  money  that  came  from  somewhere,  through  hei 


f»1         FAITH   GARTNEY 'S   GIRLHOOD. 

father's  pocket,  as  water  comes  from  Lake  KinsittewinX  by 
the  turning  of  a  faucet,  to  the  narrow  point  of  actuality 

"  But  that  is  n't  all,  I  know !  I  've  heard  you  talk  about 
railroad  dividends,  and  such  things." 

"  Oh !  what  does  the  Western  Road  pay  this  time  ?  '*  asked 
'  his  wife. 

"  I  've  had  to  sell  out  my  stock  there,"  replied  Mr.  Gart- 
ney,  with  a  sigh. 

"And  where's  the  money,  father?"  asked  Faith,  not 
carious,  but  bold  with  her  good  intent 

"  Gone  to  pay  debts,  child,"  was  the  answer. 

Mrs.  Gartney  said  nothing,  but  she  looked  very  grave. 
Her  husband  surmised,  perhaps,  that  she  would  go  on  to 
imagine  worse  than  had  really  happened,  and  so  added, 
presently,  — 

"I  huvn't  been  obliged  to  sell  all  my  railroad  stocks, 
wifey.  I  held  on  to  some.  There 's  the  New  York  Central 
all  safe ;  and  the  Michigan  Central,  too.  That  would  n't 
have  sold  so  well,  to  be  sure,  just  when  I  was  wanting  the 
money  ;  but  things  are  looking  better,  now." 

"  Father,"  said  Faithie,  with  her  most  coaxing  little  smile, 
"  please  just  take  this  bit  of  paper  and  pencil,  and  set  down 
these  stocks  and  things,  will  you  ?  " 

The  little  smile  worked  its  way ;  and  half  in  idleness, 
half  in  acquiescence,  Mr.  Gartney  took  the  pencil  and  noted 
down  a  short  list  of  items. 

"  It's  very  littlo,  Faith,  you  see."     They  ran  thus: 
New  York  Central  Railroad  .         20  shares. 

Michigan  Central         "  .     15     " 

Kinnicutt  Branch         "         .         .         10     " 
Mishaumok  Insurance  Co.         .  15     " 

Merchants  Bank  30     M 


FAITH   GARTNEr'S  GIRLHOOD.         93 

"  How  much  are  the  shares  worth,  father  ?  "  asked  per- 
eistent  Faith. 

"Well  —  at  this  moment — so — and  so — "  noting  down 
against  each  the  cash  valuation. 

"  And  now,  father,  please  put  down  how  much  you  get  a 
year  in  dividends." 

"  Not  always  the  same,  little  busybody." 

Nevertheless  he  noted  down  the  average  sums.  And  the 
total  was  between  six  and  seven  hundred  dollars. 

"But  that  is'nt  all.  You 've  got  other  things.  Why. 
there  's  the  house  at  Cross  Corners." 

"Yes,  but  I  can't  let  it,  you  know." 

"  What  used  you  to  get  for  it  ?  " 

"  Two  hundred  and  fifty.     For  house  and  land." 

"  And  you  own  this  house,  too,  father?  " 

"  Yes.     This  is  your  mother's." 

"  How  much  rent  would  this  bring?" 

Mr.  Gartney  turned  round  and  looked  at  his  daughter. 
He  began  to  see  there  was  a  meaning  in  her  questions.  And 
as  he  caught  her  eye,  he  read,  or  discerned  without  fully 
reading,  a  certain  eager  kindling  there. 

"  Why,  what  has  come  over  you,  Faithie,  to  set  you  cate 
chising  so  ?  " 

Faith  laughed. 

"  Just  answer  this,  please,  and  I  won't  ask  a  single  ques 
tion  more  to-night." 

"  About  the  rent  ?  Why,  this  house  ought  to  bring  six 
hundred,  certainly.  And  now,  if  the  court  will  permit,  L  '11 
read  the  news." 

Mr.  Gartney  took  up  the  evening  paper,  and  Faith  sat 
thinking. 

When  she  went  up  to  her  own  room,  she  carried  thither 
the  bit  of  paper,  with  its  calculation. 


94         FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

About  a  week  after  this,  in  the  latter  half  of  one  of  those 
spring  days  that  come  with  a  warm  breath  to  tell  that  sum 
mer  is  glowing  somewhere,  and  that  her  face  is  northward. 
Aunt  Faith  Henderson  came  out  upon  the  low,  vine-latticed 
stoop  of  her  house  in  Kinnicutt  There  is  a  story  to  tell  of 
that  house,  innocent  of  paint,  that  has  darkened  and  dark 
ened  in  the  sun?  and  wins,  and  yet  stood  solidly,  with  infre 
quent  repairs  of  shingle  and  clapboard,  for  more  than  two 
hundred  years.  But  it  cannot  be  told  at  this  moment,  for  1 
must  tell  you  of  another  thing —  Aunt  Henderson's  surprise. 

She  stood  at  the  westerly  end  of  this  porch,  looking  down 
and  off  toward  the  sunset,  that  rolled  its  golden  waves  over 
the  low,  distant  hills,  till  they  seemed  to  fill  up  the  broad 
meadow-space  that  intervened  with  a  molten  glory,  sublimat 
ing  overhead  into  a  glittering  mist  that  melted  out  at  last 
into  the  pure  depth  of  blue. 

Aunt  Henderson's  thoughts  had  wandered  off  as  far,  or 
farther,  seemingly,  than  her  eyes. 

Up  the  little  foot-path  fro.m  the  road,  —  across  the  bit  of 
greensward  that  lay  between  it  and  the  stoop,  —  came  a 
quick,  noiseless  step,  and  there  was  a  touch,  presently,  on 
the  old  lady's  arm. 

Faith  Gartney  stood  beside  her,  in  trim  straw  bonnet  and 
shawl,  with  a  black  leather  bag  upon  her  arm. 

"  Auntie  !  I  've  come  to  make  you  a  tiny  little  visit!  Till 
day  after  to-morrow." 

Aunt  Henderson  wheeled  round  suddenly  at  the  touch,  — 
Bet  her  shoulders  back  against  the  house,  which  fortunately 
stood  in  the  way,  or  she  might  have  described  such  an  arc 
of  a  circle  as  is  included  between  two  radii  at  right  angles 
to  each  other  and  five  feet  six-and-a-half  inches  in  length  ; 
brought  her  thoughts  home  again  from  their  far  outstretch. 


FAITH   GAItTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.         95 

and  concentrated  them  as  best  sLe  might  on  the  pretty  figure 
immediately  before  her. 

"  Faith  Gartney !  However  came  you  here  ?  And  in  such 
a  fashion,  too,  without  a  word  of  warning,  like  —  an  angel 
from  heaven !  "  Concluding  her  sentence  with  a  simile  some 
what  unexpected  to  herself,  growing  out  of  those  mingled 
impressions  of  the  resplendent  sky  and  Faithie's  fair, 
smiling  face. 

"  I  came  up  in  the  cars,  auntie !  I  felt  just  like  it !  Will 
you  keep  me?" 

"Glory!  Glory  McWhirk!"  Like  the  good  Vicar  of 
Wakefield,  Aunt  Henderson  liked  often  to  give  the  whole 
name  ;  and  calling,  she  disappeared  round  the  corner  of  the 
stoop,  without  ever  a  word  of  more  assured  welcome. 

"  Put  on  the  teapc  t  again,  and  make  a  slice  of  toast."  The 
good  lady's  voice,  going  on  with  farther  directions,  was  lost 
in  the  intricate  threading  of  the  inner  maze  of  the  singular 
old  dwelling,  and  Faith  followed  her  as  far  as  the  first  apart 
ment,  where  she  set  down  her  bag  and  removed  her  bonnet. 

It  was  a  quaint,  dim  room,  overbrowed  and  gloomed  by 
the  roofed  projection  of  the  stoop ;  low-ceiled,  high-wain 
scoted  and  panelled.  All  in  oak,  of  the  natural  color, 
deepened  and  glossed  by  time  and  wear.  The  heavy  beams 
that  supported  the  floor  above  were  undisguised,  and  left 
the  ceiling  in  panels  also,  as  it  were,  between.  In  these 
highest  places,  a  man  six  feet  tall  could  hardly  have  stood 
without  bending.  He  certainly  would  not,  whether  he  could 
or  no.  Even  Aunt  Faith,  with  her  five  feet,  six-and-a-half, 
dropped  a  little  of  her  dignity,  habitually,  when  she  entered. 
But  then,  as  she  said,  "  A  hen  always  bobs  her  head  when 
ehe  comes  in  at  a  barn-door."  Between  the  windows  stood 
an  old,  old-fashioned  secretary,  that  filled  up  from  floor  to 


/ 
06         FAITH  GARTNEF'S  GIRLHOOD. 

ceiling  ;  and  over  the  fireplace  a  mirror  of  equally  antique 
date  tilted  forward  from  the  wall.  Opposite  the  secretary, 
a  plain  mahogany  table  ;  and  eight  high-backed,  claw-footed 
chairs  ranged  stiffly  around  the  room. 

Aunt  Henderson  was  proud  of  her  old  ways,  her  old  fur 
niture,  and  her  house,  that  was  older  than  all. 

Some  far  back  ancestor  and  early  settler  had  built  it,  — 
the  beginning  of  it,  —  before  Kinnicutt  had  even  become  a 
town;  and  —  rare  exception  to  the  changes  elsewhere  — 
generation  after  generation  of  the  same  name  and  line  had 
inhabited  it  until  now.  Aunt  Faith,  exultingly,  told  each 
curious  visitor  that  it  had  been  built  precisely  two  hundred 
and  ten  years.  Out  in  the  back  kitchen,  or  lean-to,  was  hung 
to  a  rafter  the  identical  gun  with  which  the  "  old  settler"  had 
ranged  the  forest  that  stretched  then  from  the  very  door  ; 
and  higher  up,  across  a  frame  contrived  for  it,  was  the 
"  wooden  saddle  "  fabricated  for  the  back  of  the  placid,  slow- 
moving  ox,  in  the  time  when  horses  were  as  yet  rare  in  the 
new  country,  and  used  with  pillions,  to  transport  I  can't 
definitely  say  how  many  of  the  family  to  "  meeting." 

Between  these,  — the  best  room  and  the  out-kitchen,  — 
the  labyrinth  of  sitting-room,  bedrooms,  kitchen  proper, 
milk-room  and  pantry,  partitioned  off,  or  added  on,  many  of 
them  since  the  primary  date  of  the  main  structure,  would 
defy  the  pencil  of  modern  architect,  and  must  be  left  in 
their  dim  confusion  to  the  imagination. 

In"  one  of  these  irregularly  clustered  apartments  that 
opened  out  on  different  aspects,  unexpectedly,  from  their 
conglomerant  centre,  Faith  sat,  some  fifteen  minutes  after 
her  entrance  into  the  house,  at  a  little  round  table  between 
two  corner  windows  that  looked  northwest  and  southwest, 
and  together  took  in  the  full  radiance  of  the  evening  sky. 


FAITH   GARTNETS    GIRLHOOD.         9? 

Opposite  sat  her  aunt,  taking  care  of  lier  as  regarded  tea, 
toast,  wud  plain  country  loaf-cake,  and  watching  somewhat 
curiously,  also,  her  face. 

Faith's  £we  had  changed  a  little  since  Aunt  Henderson 
Lad  ssen  her  lart.  It  was  not  the  careless  girl's  face  she 
had  known.  Thv.re  was  a  thought  in  it  now.  A  thought 
that  seemed  to  go  quixo  out  from,  and  forget  the  self  from 
which  it  came. 

Aunt  Henderson  woaclered  greatly  what  sudden  whim  or 
inward  purpose  had  brought  her  grand-niece  hither. 

When  Faith  absolutely  declined  any  more  tea  or  cake, 
Miss  Henderson's  tap  on  the  vable-leaf  brought  in  Glory 
JVIcWhirk. 

A  tall,  well-grown  girl  of  eighteen  was  Glory,  now,  — 
quite  another  Glory  than  had  lightened,  long  ago,  the  dull 
/ittle  house  in  Budd  Street,  and  iJilcd  it  with  her  bright, 
untutored  dreams.  The  luminous  tresses  had  had  their 
way  since  then ;  that  is,  with  certain  comfortable  bounds 
prescribed ;  and  rippled  themselves  Iwtckward  from  a  clear, 
contented  tace,  into  the  net  that  held  them  tidily,  but  had 
its  —  meshes  —  lull  to  do  it,  after  a  s^yle  of  their  own,  that 
in  these  later  days  Fashion  and  Art  Lave  striven  hopelessly 
to  achieve  with  crimping-pins  and  —  '  rats  !  " 

I  said  Glory's  face  was  contented ,  yet  it  was  not  with 
the  utter  content  of  a  little  soul  that  looks  not  beyond  the 
moment.  There  was  a  yearning  and  a  dreaminess  deep  in 
her  eyes,  when  you  looked  far  enougn  to  find  it,  that  told, 
even  yet,  of  unfulfilment ;  of  something  unconsciously 
waited  foi  still,  and  sure  to  come.  It  was  one  of  those 
faces  that,  find  them  where  you  may,  carry  God's  prophecy 
in  them. 

Faith  looked  up,  and  remembered  the  poor  office-girl  of 

9 


98         FAITH  GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

three  years  since,  half  clad  and  hopeless,  with  a  secret 
amaze  at  what  "  Aunt  Faith  had  made  of  her." 

"  You  may  give  me  some  water,  Glory,"  said  Miss  Hen 
derson. 

Glory  brought  the  pitcher,  and  poured  into  the  tumbler, 
and  gazed  at  Faith's  pretty  face,  and  the  dark- brown  glossy 
rolls  that  framed  it,  until  the  water  fairly  ran  over  upon  the 
table. 

"  There !  there !  Why,  Glory,  what  are  you  thinking 
of?  "  cried  Miss  Henderson. 

Glory  was  thinking  her  old  thoughts,  —  wakened  alwayd 
by  all  that  was  beautiful  and  beyond. 

She  came  suddenly  to  herself,  however,  and  darted  off, 
with  her  face  as  bright  a  crimson  as  her  hair  was  golden  ; 
flashing  up  so,  as  she  did  most  easily,  into  as  veritable  a 
Glory  as  ever  was.  Never  had  baby  been  more  aptly  01 
prophetically  named. 

Coming  back,  towel  in  hand,  to  stop  the  freshet  she  had 
set  flowing,  she  dared  not  give  another  glance  across  the 
table  ;  but  went  busily  and  deftly  to  work,  clearing  it  of  ail 
that  should  be  cleared,  that  she  might  make  her  shy  way 
off  again  before  she  should  be  betrayed  into  other  unwonted 
blundering. 

"And  now,  Faith  Gartney,  tell  me  all  about  it!  What 
sent  you  here?" 

"  Nothing.  Nobody.  I  came,  aunt  I  wanted  to  set 
the  place,  and  you." 

The  rough  eyebrows  were  bent  keenly  across  the  table. 

"Hum!"  breathed  Aunt  Henderson,  a  little  doubtful, 
and  very  much  puzzled. 

Then  Faith  asked  the  news  in  Kinnicutt,  and  told  of  home 
matters,  what  people  usually  tell,  and  consider  that  they 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S  GIRLHt  OD.         9L 

have  given  account  of  themselves.  Aunt  Henderson's  quer  • 
tions  were  few.  She  cared  little  for  outside  commonplace, 
and  there  was  small  interior  sympathy  between  her  ideas 
and  those  that  governed  the  usual  course  of  affairs  in  Hick 
ory  Street  Fond  of  her  nephew  and  his  family,  after  her 
fashion,  notwithstanding  Faith's  old  rebellion,  and  all  other 
differences,  she  certainly  was ;  but  they  went  their  way,  and 
she  hers.  She  felt  pretty  sure  theirs  would  sooner  or  later 
come  to  a  turning  ;  and  when  that  should  happen,  whether 
she  should  meet  them  round  the  corner,  or  not,  would  de 
pend.  Her  path  would  need  to  bend  a  little,  and  theirs  to 
make  a  pretty  sharp  angle,  first. 

But  here  was  Faith  cutting  across  lota  to  come  to  her ! 
Aunt  Henderson  put  away  her  loaf-cake  in  the  cupboard, 
set  back  her  chair  against  the  wall  in  its  invariable  position 
of  disuse,  and  departed  to  the  milk-room  an4  kitchen  for 
her  evening  duty  and  oversight. 

Glory's  hands  were  busy  in  the  bread-bowl,  and  her  brain 
kneading  its  secret  thoughts  that  no  one  knew  or  inter 
meddled  with. 

Faith  sat  at  the  open  window  of  the  little  tea-room,  and 
watched  the  young  moon's  golden  horn  go  down  behind  the 
earth-rim  among  the  purple,  like  a  flamy  flower  bud  floating 
over,  and  so  lost. 

And  the  three  lives  gathered  in  to  themselves,  separately, 
whatsoever  the  hour  brought  to  each. 

At  nine  o'clock  Aunt  Faith  came  in,  took  down  the  great 
leather-bound  Bible  from  the  corner  shelf,  and  laid  it  on  the 
table.  Glory  appeared,  and  seated  herself  beside  the  door. 

For  a  few  moments,  the  three  lives  met  in  the  One  Great 
Life  that  overarches  and  includes  humanity.  Miss  Hender 
son  read  from  the  sixth  chapter  of  St.  John. 

They  were  fed  with  the  five  thousand. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A    RECONNOISSANCE. 

'  Then  said  his  Lordship,  «Well,  God  mend  all!'  'Nay,  Donald,  we 
must  help  Him  to  mend  it,'  ssiid  the  other."  — Quoted  by  CARLTLE. 

"  Oh,  leave  these  jargons,  and  go  your  way  straight  to  God's  work  In 
simplicity  and  singleness  of  heart!  "—Miss  NIGHTINGALE. 

"  AUNTIE,"  said  Faith,  next  morning,  when,  after  some 
exploring,  she  had  discovered  Miss  Henderson  in  a  little 
room,  the  very  counterpart  of  the  one  she  had  had  her  tea 
in  the  night  before,  only  that  this  opened  to  the  southeast, 
and  hailed  the  morning  sun  as  that  had  taken  in  its  set 
ting,  —  "  Auntie,  will  you  go  over  with  me  to  the  Cross 
Corners  house,  after  breakfast  ?  It 's  empty,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

"Yes,  it's  empty.  But  it's  no  great  show  of  a  house. 
What  do  you  want  to  see  it  for  ?  " 

"  Why,  it  used  to  be  so  pretty,  there.  I  'd  like  just  to 
go  into  it  Have  you  heard  of  anybody  wanting  it  yet  ?  " 

"No;  and  I  guess  nobody's  likely  to,  for  one  while. 
Folks  don't  make  many  changes,  out  here." 

"What  a  "bright  little  breakfast-room  this  is,  auntie! 
A  nd  how  grand  you  are  to  have  a  room  for  every  meal !  " 

"It  aint  for  the  grandeur  of  it.  But  I  always  did  like 
to  follow  the  sun  round.  For  the  most  part  of  the  year,  at 
eny  rate.  And  this  is  just  as  near  the  kitchen  as  the  other 


FAITH  GARTNET'S  GIRLHOOD.       101 

Besides,  I  kind  of  hate  to  shut  up  any  of  the  rooms,  alto 
gether.  They  were  all  wanted,  once ;  and  now  I  'EC  all 
alone  in  'em." 

For  Miss  Henderson,  this  was  a  great  opening  of  the 
heart  But  she  did  n't  go  on  to  say  that  the  little  west  room, 
had  been  her  young  brother's,  who  long  ago,  when  he  was 
just  ready  for  his  Master's  work  in  this  world,  had  been 
called  up  higher  ;  and  that  her  evening  rest  was  sweeter, 
and  her  evening  reading  holier  for  being  holden  there  ;  or 
that  here,  in  the  sunny  morning  hours,  her  life  seemed 
almost  to  roll  back  its  load  of  many  years,  and  to  set  her 
down  beside  her  mother's  knee,  and  beneath  her  mother's 
gentle  tutelage,  once  more;  that  on  the  little  "  light-  stand  " 
in  the  corner  by  the  fireplace  stood  the  self-same  basket  that 
had  been  her  mother's  then, — just  where  she  had  kept  it, 
too,  when  it  was  running  over  with  little  frocks  and  stock 
ings  that  were  always  waiting  finishing  or  mending,  —  and 
now  held  only  the  plain  gray  knitting-work  and  the  bit  of 
sewing  that  Aunt  Faith  might  have  in  hand. 

A  small,  square  table  stood  now  in  the  middle  of  the  floor, 
with  a  fresh  brown  linen  breakfast-cloth  upon  it ;  and  Glory, 
neat  and  fresh,  also,  with  her  brown  spotted  calico  dress 
*nd  apron  of  the  same,  came  in  smiling  like  a  very  goddess 
of  peace  and  plenty,  with  the  steaming  coffee-pot  in  one 
hand,  and  the  plate  of  fine,  white  rolls  in  the  other.  The 
yellow  print  of  butter  and  some  rounds  from  a  brown  loaf 
were  already  on  the  table.  Glory  brought  in,  presently, 
the  last  addition  to  the  meal,  —  six  eggs,  laid  yesterday, 
the  water  of  their  boiling  just  dried  off,  and  modestly  took 
her  own  seat  at  the  lower  end  of  the  board, 

Aunt  Faith,  living  alone,  kept  to  the  kindly  old  country 

fashion  of  admitting  her  handmaid  to  the  table  with  herse]£ 
9* 


102       FAITH   GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

"Why  not?"  she  would  say.  "In  the  first  place,  why 
should  we  keep  the  table  about,  half  an  hour  longer  than 
we  need  ?  And  I  suppose  hot  cakes  and  coffee  are  as  much 
nicer  than  cold,  for  one  body  as  another.  Then  where  'e 
the  sense  ?  We  take  Bible-meat  together.  Must  we  be 
more  dainty  about  '  meat  that  perisheth  ?  "  So  her  argu 
ment  climbed  up  from  its  lower  reason  to  its  climax. 

Glory  had  little  of  the  Irish  now  about  her  but  her  name. 
And  all  that  she  retained  visibly  of  the  Eoman  faith  she 
had  been  born  to,  was  her  little  rosary  of  colored  shells, 
strung  as  beads,  that  had  been  blessed  by  the  Pope. 

Miss  Henderson  had  trained  and  fed  her  in  her  own  ways, 
and  with  such  food  as  che  partook  herself,  physically  and 
spiritually.  Glory  sat,  every  Sunday,  in  the  corner  pew  of 
the  village  church,  by  her  mistress's  side.  And  this  church- 
going  being  nearly  all  that  she  had  ever  had,  she  took  in 
the  nutriment  that  was  given  her,  to  a  soul  that  recognized 
it,  and  never  troubled  itself  with  questions  as  to  one  truth 
differing  from  another,  or  no.  Indeed,  no  single  form  or 
theory  could  have  contained  the  "  credo  "  of  her  simple,  yet 
complex,  thought  The  old  Catholic  reverence  clung  about 
uer  still,  that  had  come  with  her  all  the  way  from  her  infancy, 
when  her  mother  and  grandmother  had  taught  her  the  pray 
ers  of  their  Church ;  and  across  the  long  interval  of  igno 
rance  and  neglect  flung  a  sort  of  cathedral  light  over  what 
the  felt  was  holy  now. 

Rescued  from  her  dim  and  servile  city  life,  —  brought  out 
into  the  light  and  beauty  she  had  mutely  longed  for,  —  feel 
ing  care  and  kindliness  about  her  for  the  long-time  harshness 
and  oppression  she  had  borne,  —  she  was  like  a  spirit  newly 
entered  into  heaven,  that  needs  no  priestly  ministration  and 
more.  Every  breath  drew  in  a  life  and  teaching  purer  thac 
human  words. 


x     FAITH   GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.       103 

And  then  the  words  she  did  hear  were  Divine.  Miss 
Henderson  did  no  preaching,  —  scarcely  any  lip-teaching, 
however  brief.  She  broke  the  bread  of  life  God  gave  her, 
as  she  cut  her  daily  loaf  and  shared  it,  —  letting  each  soul, 
God  helping,  digest  it  for  itself. 

Glory  got  hold  of  some  old  theology,  too,  that  she  could 
but  fragmentarily  understand ;  but  that  mingled  itself,  — 
as  all  we  gather  does  mingle,  not  uselessly,  —  with  her 
growth.  She  found  old  books  among  Miss  Henderson's 
stores,  that  she  read  and  mused  on.  She  trembled  at  the 
warnings,  and  reposed  in  the  holy  comforts  of  Doddridge's 
"  Eise  and  Progress,"  and  Baxter's  "  Saint's  Best."  She 
travclhd  to  the  Holy  City,  above  all,  with  Bunyan's  Pil 
grim.  And  then,  Sunday  after  Sunday,  she  heard  the 
simple  Christian  preaching  of  an  old  and  simple  Christian 
man.  Not  terrible,  —  but  earnest ;  not  mystical,  —  but 
high ;  not  lax,  —  but  liberal ;  and  this  fused  and  tempered 
all. 

So  "  things  had  happened  "  for  Glory.  So  God  had  cared 
for  this,  his  child.  So,  according  to  His  own  "Will,  —  not 
any  human  plan  or  forcing,  —  she  grew. 

Aunt  Faith  washed  up  the  breakfast  cups,  dusted  and 
"  set  to  rights "  in  the  rooms  where,  to  the  young  Faith's 
eyes,  there  seemed  such  order  already  as  could  not  be  righted, 
made  up  a  nice  little  pudding  for  dinner,  and  then,  taking 
down  her  shawl  and  silk  hood,  and  putting  on  her  overshoes, 
announced  herself  ready  for  Cross  Corners. 

"  Though  it 's  all  cross  corners  to  me,  child,  sure  enough. 
I  suppose  it 's  none  of  my  business,  but  I  can't  think  what 
you  're  up  to." 

"  Not  up  to  any  great  height,  yet,  auntie.  But  I  'ra 
growing,"  said  Faith,  merrily,  and  with  meaning  somewhat 
beyond  the  letter. 


104       FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

They  went  out  at  the  back  door,  which  opened  on  a  little 
foot-path  down  the  sudden  green  slope  behind,  and  stretched 
across  the  field,  diagonally,  to  a  bar-place  and  stile  at  the 
opposite  corner.  Here  the  roads  from  five  different  direc 
tions  met  and  crossed,  which  gave  the  locality  its  name. 

Opposite  the  stile  at  which  they  came  out,  across  the  shady 
lane  that  wound  down  from  the  Old  Koad  whereon  Miss 
Henderson's  mansion  faced,  a  gateway  in  a  white  paling 
that  ran  round  and  fenced  in  a  grassy  door-yard,  overhung 
with  pendent  branches  of  elms  and  stouter  canopy  of  chest 
nuts,  let  them  in  upon  the  little  "  Cross  Corners  Farm." 

The  house  stood  but  a  few  paces  back,  the  long,  sweep 
ing  tips  of  the  elm-boughs  kissing  its  roof;  and  behind  it 
swelled  a  ridge  of  land  so  wooded  over  with  miscellaneous 
growth  of  tree  and  shrub,  that  it  was  like  the  entrance  to  a 
forest.  The  uprising  of  the  ground  filled  in  with  its  dark 
coloring,  and  gave  an  effect  of  density,  beside  cutting  off  all 
view  between  or  beyond  the  trees ;  so  that,  although  a  few 
moments'  walk  would  carry  one  over  and  through  it  all  into 
the  cleared  and  cultivated  fields  beyond,  the  illusion  was 
utter,  and  very  charming. 

Faith  felt  it  so,  even  in  this  early  spring-time,  before  the 
grass  was  fully  green,  or  the  branches  draped  in  all  their 
summer  breadth  and  beauty. 

"Oh,  Aunt  Faith!  It's  just  as  lovely  as  ever!  I  re 
member  that  path  up  the  hill,  among  the  trees,  so  well ! 
When  I  was  a  little  bit  of  a  girl,  and  nurse  and  I  came  out 
to  stay  with  you.  I  had  my  "fairy  house"  there.  I'd 
like  to  go  over  this  minute,  only  that  we  shan't  have  time. 
How  shall  we  get  in?  Where  is  the  key? 

"  It's  in  my  pocket.  But  it  mystifies  me,  what  you  want 
there." 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.       105 

"  I  want  to  look  out  of  all  the  windows,  auntie,  to  begin 
with." 

Aunt  Faith's  mystification  was  not  lessened. 

The  front  door  opened  on  a  small,  square  hall,  with  doors 
fcc  right  and  left.  Opposite,  went  up  the  narrow  staircase. 
Narrow,  and  steep,  but  straight ;  lighted  by  a  window  from 
the  landing  at  its  head  ;  and  railed  at  either  side  above,  to 
give  passage  to  the  chambers  at  the  front. 

The  room  on  the  left,  spite  of  the  bare  floor  and  fireless 
hearth,  was  warm  with  the  spring  sunshine  that  came  pour 
ing  in  at  the  south  windows.  Beyond  this,  embracing  the 
corner  of  the  house  rectangularly,  projected  an  equally 
sunny  and  cheery  kitchen ;  at  the  right  of  which,  commu 
nicating  with  both  apartments,  was  divided  off  a  tiny  tca- 
and-breakfast-room.  So  Faith  mentally  decided  it,  though 
it  had  very  likely  been  a  bedroom.  This  looked  northerly, 
however,  and  would  seem  pleasanter,  doubtless,  in  July ; 
though  the  high  ridge  that  trended  north  and  easterly  be 
hind,  sheltered  the  whole  house  in  comparative  comfort, 
even  from  December  gales. 

From  the  entrance  hall  at  the  right  opened  a  room  larger 
than  either  of  the  others,  —  so  large  that  the  floor  above 
afforded  two  bedrooms  over  it,  —  and  having,  beside  ita 
windows  south  and  east,  a  door  in  the  farther  corner  beyond 
the  chimney,  that  gave  out  directly  upon  the  grassy  slope, 
and  looked  up  the  path  among  the  trees  that  crossed  the 
ridge. 

Faith  drew  the  bolt  and  opened  it,  expecting  to  find  a 
closet  or  a  passage  somewhither.  She  fairly  started  back 
with  surprise  and  delight.  And  then  seated  herself  plump 
upon  the  threshold,  with  her  feet  on  the  flat  flag-stone  before 
it.  and  went  into  a  midsummer  dream. 


lOo1       FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

11  Oh,  auntie ! "  she  cried,  at  her  waking,  presently,  "  was 
ever  anything  so  perfect  ?  To  think  of  being  let  out  so  1 
Eight  from  a  regular,  proper  parlor,  into  the  woods ! " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  go  up  stairs?  "  inquired  Miss  Hender 
son,  with  a  vague  amaze  in  her  look  that  seemed  to  question 
whether  her  niece  had  not  possibly  been  "  let  out"  from  her 
"  regular  and  proper  "  wits ! 

Whereupon  Faith  scrambled  up  from  her  seat  upon  the 
sill,  and  hurried  off  to  investigate  and  explore  above. 

Miss  Henderson  closed  the  door,  pushed  the  bolt,  and 
followed  quietly  after. 

It  was  a  funny  little  pantomime  that  Faith  enacted  then, 
for  the  further  bewilderment  of  the  staid  old  lady. 

Darting  from  one  chamber  to  another,  with  an  inexpli 
cable  look  of  business  and  consideration  in  her  face,  that 
contrasted  comically  with  her  quick  movements  and  her 
general  air  of  glee,  she  would  take  her  stand  in  the  middle 
of  each  one  in  turn,  and  wheeling  round  to  get  a  swift 
panoramic  view  of  outlook  and  capabilities,  would  end  by  a 
succession  of  mysterious  and  apparently  satisfied  little  nods, 
as  if  at  each  pause  some  point  of  plan  or  arrangement  had 
settled  itself  in  her  mind. 

"Aunt  Faith!"  cried  she,  suddenly,  as  she  came  out 
upon  the  landing  when  she  had  peeped  into  the  last  corner, 
and  found  Miss  Henderson  on  the  point  of  making  her 
descent,  —  "  what  sort  of  a  thing  do  you  think  it  would  be 
for  us  to  come  here  and  live  ?  " 

Aunt  Faith  sat  down  now  as  suddenly,  in  her  turn,  on 
the  stair-head.  Recovering,  so,  from  her  momentary  and 
utter  astonishment,  and  taking  in,  during  that  instant  of 
repose,  the  full  drift  of  the  question  propounded,  she  rose 
from  her  involuntarily  assumed  position,  and  continued  her 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.       107 

way  down,  —  answering,  without  so  much  as  turning  her 
head,  —  "It  would  be  just  the  most  sensible  thing  that 
Henderson  G-artney  ever  did  in  his  life  ! " 

What  made  Faithie  a  bit  sober,  all  at  once,  when  the 
key  was  turned,  and  they  passed  on,  out  under  the  elms, 
into  the  lane  again  ? 

Did  you  ever  project  a  very  wise  and  important  scheme, 
that  involved  a  little  self-sacrifice,  which,  by  a  determined 
looking  at  the  bright  side  of  the  subject,  you  had  managed 
tolerably  to  ignore ;  and  then,  by  the  instant  and  unhesi 
tating  acquiescence  of  some  one  to  whose  judgment  you 
submitted  it,  find  yourself  suddenly  wheeled  about  in  your 
own  mind  to  the  stand-point  whence  you  discerned  only  the 
difficulty  again? 

"  There 's  one  thing,  Aunt  Faith,"  said  she,  as  they 
slowly  walked  up  the  field-path;  "I  couldn't  go  to  school 
any  more." 

Faith  had  discontinued  her  regular  attendance  since  the 
recommencement  for  the  year,  but  had  gone  in  for  a  few 
hours  on  "  French  and  German  days." 

"There's  another  thing,"  said  Aunt  Faith.  "I  don't 
believe  your  father  can  afford  to  send  you  any  more.  You  're 
eighteen,  aint  you?  " 

"  I  shall  be,  this  summer." 

"  Time  for  you  to  leave  off  school.  Bring  your  books 
and  things  along  with  you.  You  '11  have  chance  enough  to 
study." 

Faith  had  n't  thought  much  of  herself  before.  But  when 
she  found  her  aunt  did  n't  apparently  think  of  her  at  all, 
she  began  to  realize  keenly  all  that  she  must  silently  give 
up. 

"But  it's  a  good  deal  of  help,  auntie,  to  study  with 


108       FAITH    GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

other  people.  And  then  —  we  should  n't  have  any  society 
out  here.  I  don't  mean  for  the  sake  of  parties,  and  going 
about.  But  for  the  improvement  of  it.  I  should  n't  like 
to  be  shut  out  from  cultivated  people." 

"Faith  Gartney!"  exclaimed  Miss  Henderson,  facing 
about  in  the  narrow  footway,  "don't  you  go  to  being  fine 
and  transcendental !  If  there 's  one  word  I  despise  more 
than  another,  in  the  way  folks  use  it  now-a-days,  —  it 's 
'  Culture ! '  As  if  God  did  n't  know  how  to  make  soula 
grow !  You  just  take  root  where  He  puts  you,  and  go  to 
work,  and  live!  He'll  take  care  of  the  cultivating!  If 
He  means  you  to  turn  out  a  rose,  or  an  oak-tree,  you  *11 
come  to  it.  And  pig- weed 's  pig- weed,  no  matter  where  it 
starts  up ! " 

"  Aunt  Faith !  "  replied  the  child,  humbly  and  earnestly, 
"  I  believe  that 's  true !  And  I  believe  I  want  the  country 
to  grow  in!  But  the  thing  will  be,"  she  added,  a  little 
doubtfully,  "  to  persuade  father." 

"  Don't  he  want  to  come,  then  ?  Whose  plan  is  it,  pray  ?  " 
asked  Miss  Henderson,  stopping  short  again,  just  as  she  had 
resumed  her  walk,  in  a  fresh  surprise. 

"  Nobody's  but  mine,  yet,  auntie !  I  have  n't  asked  him, 
but  I  thought  I  'd  come  and  look." 

Miss  Henderson  took  her  by  the  arm,  and  looked  stead 
fastly  in  her  dark,  earnest  eyes. 

"  You  're  something,  sure  enough !  "  said  she,  with  a 
sharp  tenderness. 

Faith  did  n't  know  precisely  what  she  meant,  except  that 
she  seemed  to  mean  approval.  And  at  the  one  word  of 
appreciation,  all  difficulty  and  self-sacrifice  vanished  out  of 
her  sight,  and  everything  brightened  to  her  thought,  again, 
till  her  thought  brightened  out  into  a  smile. 


tAlTR   GARTNET'S   GIRLHOOD.       109 

"  What  a  sky-full  of  lovely  white  clouds ! "  she  said, 
looking  up  to  the  pure,  fleecy  folds  that  were  flitting  over 
the  blue.  "  We  can't  see  that  in  Mishaumok !  " 

"  She's  just  heavenly!"  said  Glory  to  herself,  standing 

t  the  back  door,  and  gazing  with  a  rapturous  admiration 

t  Faith's  upturned  face.     "And  the  dinner's  all  reauy, 

and  I  'm  thankful,  and  more,  that  the  custard  'a  baked  so 

beautiful!" 


CHAPTEK  Xlli. 

DEVELOPMENT. 

"  Sits  the  wind  in  that  comer  ?  " 

MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

"  For  courage  mounteth  with  occasion." 

KING  JOHN. 

THE  lassitude  that  comes  with  spring  had  told  upon  Mr. 
Gartney.  He  had  dyspepsia,  too  ;  and  now  and  then  came 
home  early  from  the  counting-room  with  a  headache  that 
sent  him  to  his  bed.  Dr.  Gracie  dropped  in,  friendly- wise, 
of  an  evening,  —  said  little  that  was  strictly  professional, 
—  but  held  his  hand  a  second  longer,  perhaps,  than  he 
would  have  done  for  a  mere  greeting,  and  looked  rather 
Bcrutinizingly  at  him  when  Mr.  Gartney 's  eyes  were  turned 
another  way.  Frequently  he  made  some  slight  suggestion 
of  a  journey,  or  other  summer  change. 

"  You  must  urge  it,  if  you  can,  Mrs.  Gartney,"  he  said, 
privately,  to  the  wife.  "  I  don't  quite  like  his  looks.  Get 
him  away  from  business,  at  almost  any  sacrifice,"  he  camo 
to  add,  at  last. 

"  At  every  sacrifice  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Gartney,  anxious  and 
perplexed.  "  Business  is  nearly  all,  you  know." 

"Life  is  more,  —  reason  is  more,"  answered  the  doctor, 
gravely. 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.       Ill 

And  the  wife  went  about  her  daily  task  with  a  secret 
heaviness  at  her  heart. 

"Father,"  said  Faith,  one  evening,  after  she  had  read  to 
him  the  paper  while  he  lay  resting  upon  the  sofa,  "  if  you 
had  money  enough  to  live  on,  how  long  would  it  take  yow 
to  wind  up  your  business  ?  " 

"  It 's  pretty  nearly  wound  up  now  !  But  what 's  the 
use  of  asking  such  a  question  ? "  answered  her  father, 
turning  his  head  away,  somewhat  fretfully. 

"Because,"  said  Faith,  timidly,  "I  've  got  a  little  plan 
in  my  head,  if  you  '11  only  listen  to  it." 

A  pause.  Faith  hardly  knew  whether  to  venture  on,  or 
not 

Presently  the  head  came  round  again,  and  the  eyes  met 
hers,  with  a  look  that  was  a  little  surprised,  yet  wistful 
and  kindly,  also. 

"  Well,  Faithie,  I  '11  listen.     What  is  it  ?  " 

And  then  Faith  spoke  it  all  out,  at  once. 

"  That  you  should  give  up  all  your  business,  father,  and 
let  this  house,  and  go  to  Cross  Corners,  and  live  at  the 
farm." 

Mr.  Gartney  started  to  his  elbow.  But  a  sudden  pain 
that  leaped  in  his  temples  sent  him  back  again.  For  a 
minute  or  so,  he  did  not  speak  at  all.  Then  he  said,  — 

"  Do  you  know  what  you  are  talking  of,  daughter  ?  " 

"  Yes,  father ;  I  've  been  thinking  it  over  a  good  while, 
—  since  the  night  we  wrote  down  these  things." 

And  she  drew  from  her  pocket  the  memorandum  of  stocks 
and  dividends. 

"  You  see  you  have  six  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  a  year 
from  these,  and  this  house  would  be  six  hundred  more,  and 
mother  says  she  can  manage  on  that,  in  the  country,  if  1 
will  holp  her." 


112      FAITH   GARTNEY 'S   GIRLHOOD. 

A  simple  wording  of  a  simple  conclusion.  But  it  told  a 
great  deal. 

Mr.  Gartney  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hand.  Not  wholly, 
perhaps,  to  shield  them  from  the  light 

"  You  're  a  good  girl,  Faithie,"  said  he,  presently ;  and 
there  was  assuredly  a  little  tremble  in  his  voice. 

"  And  so,  you  and  your  mother  have  talked  it  over,  to 
gether?" 

"  Yes ;  often,  lately.  And  she  said  I  had  better  ask  you 
myself,  if  I  wished  it.  She  is  perfectly  willing.  She  thinka 
it  would  be  good." 

"Faithie,"  said  her  father,  "you  make  me  feel,  more 
than  ever,  how  much  I  ought  to  do  for  you  !  " 

"You  ought  to  get  well  and  strong,  father, — thai  is 
all ! "  replied  Faith,  with  a  quiver  in  her  own  voice,  this 
time. 

Mr.  Gartney  sighed. 

"  I  'm  no  more  than  a  mere  useless  block  of  wood ! "  said 
ho,  despondingly. 

"  We  shall  just  have  to  set  you  up,  and  make  an  idol  of 
you,  then ! "  cried  Faith,  cheerily,  with  tears  on  her  eye 
lashes,  that  she  winked  off,  and  forbade  to  be  followed. 

There  had  been  a  ring  at  the  bell  while  they  weie 
speaking ;  and  now  Mrs.  Gartney  entered,  followed  by  Dr. 
Gracie. 

"  "Well,  Miss  Faith,"  said  the  doctor,  after  the  usual 
greetings,  and  a  prolonged  look  at  Mr.  Gartney 's  flushed 
face,  and  an  injunction  to  him,  as  he  was  rising,  to  keep 
quiet,  —  "  what  have  you  done  to  your  father,  to-night  ?  " 

"  I've  been  reading  the  paper,"  answered  Faith,  quietly, 
"  and  talking  a  little." 

"  Mother ! "  said  Mr.  Gartney,  catching  his  wife's  hand, 


FAITH   GARTNEY 'S    GIRLHOOD.       113 

as  she  came  round  to  find  a  seat  near  him,  "  are  you  really 
in  the  plot,  too?" 

"  I  'm  glad  there  is  a  plot,"  said  the  doctor,  quickly, 
glancing  round  with  a  keen  inquiry.  "  It 's  time  !  " 

"  Wait  till  you  hear  it,"  said  Mr.  Gartney.  "  Are  you 
in  a  hurry  to  lose  your  patient  ?  " 

"  Depends  upon  how  !  "  replied  the  doctor,  touching  the 
truth  in  a  jest. 

"  This  is  how.  Here  's  a  little  jade  who  has  the  conceit 
and  audacity  to  propose  to  me  to  wind  up  my  business,  (as  if 
she  understood  the  whole  process !)  and  let  my  house,  and  go 
to  my  farm  at  Cross  Corners.  What  do  you  think  of  that  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  would  be  the  most  sensible  thing  you  ever 
did  in  your  life  !  " 

"  Just  exactly  what  Aunt  Henderson  said  !  "  cried  Faith, 
exultant. 

"  Aunt  Faith,  too !  The  conspiracy  thickens !  How 
long  has  all  this  been  discussing?"  continued  Mr.  Gart 
ney,  fairly  roused,  and  springing,  despite  the  doctor's  re 
quest,  to  a  sitting  position,  throwing  off,  as  he  did  so,  the 
Affghan  Faith  had  laid  over  his  feet. 

"  There  has  n't  been  much  discussion,"  said  Faith. 
"  Only  when  I  went  out  to  Kinnicutt  I  got  auntie  to  show 
me  the  house ;  and  I  asked  her  how  she  thought  it  would 
be  if  we  were  to  do  such  a  thing,  and  she  said  just  what 
Dr.  Gracie  has  said  now.  And,  father,"  —  she  continued, 
—  "you  don't  know  how  beautiful  it  is  there  !  " 

"  So  you  really  want  to  go  ?  and  it  is  n't  drumsticks  ?  " 
queried  the  doctor,  turning  round  to  Faith. 

"  Some  drumsticks  are  very  nice,"  said  Faith. 

"  Gartney  !  "  said  Dr.  Gracie,  "you  'd  better  mind  what 

this  girl  of  yours  says.     She  's  worth  attending  to," 
10* 


114       FAITH   GARTNET'S   GIRLHOOD. 

The  wedge  had  been  entered,  and  Faith's  hand  had 
driven  it. 

The  plan  was  taken  into  consideration.  Of  course,  such 
a  change  could  not  be  made  without  some  pondering  ;  but 
when  almost  the  continual  thought  of  a  family  is  concen 
trated  upon  a  single  subject,  a  good  deal  of  pondering  and 
deciding  can  be  done  in  three  weeks.  At  the  end  of  that 
time  an  advertisement  appeared  in  the  leading  Mishaumok 
papers,  offering  the  house  in  Hickory  Street  to  be  let ;  and 
Mrs.  Gartney  and  Faith  were  busy  uacking  boxes  to  go  to 
Kinnicutt. 

Only  a  passing  shade  had  been  flung  on  the  project  which 
seemed  to  brighten  into  sunshine,  otherwise,  the  more  they 
looked  at  it,  when  Mrs.  Gartney  suddenly  said,  after  a  long 
"  talking  over,"  the  second  evening  after  the  proposal  had 
been  first  broached,  — 

"  But  what  will  Saidie  say  ?  " 

Now  Saidie,  —  whom  before  it  has  been  unnecessary  to 
mention,  —  was  Faith's  elder  sister,  travelling  at  this 
moment  in  Europe,  with  a  wealthy  elder  sister  of  Mrs. 
Gartney. 

"  I  never  thought  of  Saidie,"  cried  Faith. 

Saidie  was  pretty  sure  not  to  like  Kinnicutt.  A  young 
lady,  educated  at  a  fashionable  New  York  school,  —  petted 
by  an  aunt  who  found  nobody  else  to  pet,  and  who  had 
money  enough  to  have  petted  a  whole  asylum  of  orphans,  — 
who  had  shone  in  London  and  Paris  for  two  seasons  past, 
—  was  not  exceedingly  likely  to  discover  all  the  possible 
delights  that  Faith  had  done,  under  the  elmb  and  chestnuts 
at  Cross  Corners. 

But,  after  all,  this  could  make  no  practical  difference. 

"  She  would  n't  like  Hickory  Street  any  better,'1'  said 


FAITH  GARTNERS  GIRLHOOD.       115 

Faith,  "if  we  couldn't  have  parties  or  new  furniture  any 
more.  And  she  's  only  a  visitor,  at  the  best.  Aunt  Ether- 
ege  will  be  sure  to  have  her  in  New  York,  or  travelling 
about,  ten  months  out  of  twelve.  She  can  come  to  us  in 
June  and  October.  I  guess  she  '11  like  strawberries  and 
cream,  and  —  whatever  comes  at  the  other  season,  besides 
red  leaves." 

Now  this  was  kind,  sisterly  consideration  of  Faith,  how 
ever  little  so  it  seems,  set  down.  It  was  very  certain  that, 
no  more  acceptable  provision  could  be  made  for  Saidie 
G-artney  in  the  family  plan,  than  to  leave  her  out,  except 
where  the  strawberries  and  cream  were  concerned.  In  re 
turn,  she  wrote  gay,  entertaining  letters  home  to  her  mother 
and  young  sister,  and  sent  pretty  French,  or  Florentine,  or 
Roman  ornaments  for  them  to  wear.  Some  persons  are  con 
tent  to  go  through  life  with  such  exchange  of  sympathies 
as  this. 

By-and-by,  Faith  being  in  her  own  room,  took  out  from 
her  letter-box  the  last  missive  from  abroad.  There  was 
something  in  this  which  vexed  Faith,  and  yet  stirred  her  a 
little,  obscurely,  aside  from  the  mere  vexation. 

All  things  are  fair  in  love,  war,  and  —  story-books !  So, 
though  she  would  never  have  shown  the  words  to  you  or 
me,  we  will  peep  over  her  shoulder,  and  share  them,  "  en 
rapport" 

"  And  Paul  Rushleigh,  it  seems,  is  as  much  as  ever  in 
Hickory  Street !  Well  —  my  little  Faithie  might  make  a 
far  worse  '  parti '  than  that !  Tell  papa  I  think  he  may  be 
satisfied  there ! " 

Faith  would  have  cut  off  her  little  finger,  rather  than 
have  had  her  father  dream  that  such  a  thing  had  been  put 
into  her  head !  But  unfortunately  it  was  there,  now,  ani 


116       FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

could  not  be  helped.  She  could  only,  —  sitting  there  in 
her  chamber  window  with  the  blood  tingling  to  the  hair 
upon  her  temples,  as  if  from  every  neighboring  window  of 
the  clustering  houses  about  her,  eyes  could  overlook  and 
read  what  she  was  reading  now,  —  "  wish  that  Saidie  would 
not  write  such  things  as  that !  "  And  then  wonder  how  she 
or  her  mother  could  possibly  have  said  so  much  about  their 
young  visitor  as  to  have  brought  so  unreserved  a  deduction 
upon  her  from  across  the  Atlantic. 

For  all  that,  it  was  one  pleasant  thing  Faith  would  have 
to  lose  in  leaving  Mishaumok.  It  was  very  agreeable  to 
have  him  dropping  in,  with  his  gay  college  gossip  ;  and  to 
dance  the  "  German  "  with  the  nicest  partner  in  the  Mon 
day  class ;  and  to  carry  the  flowers  he  so  often  sent  her. 
Had  she  done  things  greater  than  she  knew  in  shutting  her 
eyes  resolutely  to  all  her  city  associations  and  enjoyments, 
and  urging,  for  her  father's  sake,  this  exodus  into  the 
desert  ? 

Only  that  means  were  actually  wanting  to  continue  on 
as  they  were,  and  that  health  must  at  any  rate  be  first 
striven  for  as  a  condition  to  the  future  enlargement  of 
means,  her  father  and  mother,  in  their  thought  for  what 
their  child  hardly  considered  for  herself,  would  surely  have 
been  more  diificult  to  persuade.  They  hoped  that  a  sum 
mer's  rest  might  enable  Mr.  Gartney  to  undertake  again 
some  sort  of  lucrative  business,  after  business  should  have 
revived  from  its  present  prostration ;  and  that  a  year  or 
two,  perhaps,  of  economizing  in  the  country,  might  make  it 
possible  for  them  to  return,  if  they  choss,  to  the  house  in 
Hickory  Street. 

There  were  leave-takings  to  be  gone  through,  — question* 
to  be  answered,  and  reasons  to  be  given ;  for  Mrs.  Gartney, 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.       117 

the  polite  wishes  of  her  visiting  friends  that  "  Mr.  Gartney's 
health  might  allow  them  to  return  to  the  city  in  the  win 
ter,"  with  the  wonder,  unexpressed,  whether  this  were  to 
be  a  final  break-down  of  the  family,  or  not ;  and  for  Faith, 
the  horror  and  extravagant  lamentations  of  her  young  cote 
rie,  at  her  coming  oceultation  —  or  setting,  rather,  out  of 
-  their  sky. 

Paul  Eushleigh  demanded  eagerly  if  there  were  n't  any 
sober  old  minister  out  there,  with  whom  he  might  be  rusti 
cated  for  his  next  college  prank,  which  he  would  contrive 
with  nice  adaptation  for  the  express  purpose. 

Everybody  promised  to  come  as  far  as  Kinnicutt  "  some 
time"  to  see  them;  the  good-byes  were  all  said  at  last;  the 
city  cook  had  departed,  and  a  woman  had  been  taken  in 
her  place  who  "had  no  objections  to  the  country;"  and  on 
one  of  the  last  bright  days  of  May  they  skimmed,  steam- 
sped,  over  the  intervening  country  between  the  brick-and- 
stone-encrusted  hills  of  Mishaumok  and  the  fair  meadow 
reaches  of  Kinnicutt ;  and  so  disappeared  out  of  the  places 
that  had  known  them  so  long,  and  could  yet,  alas !  do  so 
exceedingly  well  without  them. 

By  the  first  of  June  nobody  in  the  great  city  remembered, 
or  remembered  very  seriously  to  regard,  the  little  gap  that 
had  been  made  in  its  midst 

Do  the  cloven  waters  stand  a-gapc  for  the  little  dipper- 
full  of  drops  that  may  be  drawn  out  from  among  them  ? 


CHAPTEK  XIV. 

A   DRIVE   WITH    THE   DOCTOH. 

"And  what  is  so  rare  as  a  day  in  June ? 

Then,  if  ever,  come  perfect  days ; 
Then  heaven  tries  the  earth  if  it  be  in  tune, 
And  over  it  softly  her  warm  ear  lays." 

LOWELL. 

**  All  lives  have  their  prose  translation  as  well  as  their  ideal  meaning." 

CHARLES  AUCHESTER. 

BUT  Kinnicutt  opened  wider  to  receive  them  than  Mish- 
lumok  had  to  let  them  go. 

If  Mr.  Gartney's  invalidism  had  to  be  pleaded  to  get 
away  with  dignity,  it  was  even  more  needed  to  shield  with 
anything  of  quietness  their  entrance  into  the  new  sphere 
they  had  chosen. 

It  is  astonishing  how  wide  the  circuit  of  neighborhood  is 
in  and  around  a  centre  of  bucolic  life.  The  embrace  widens 
with  the  horizon.  Where  brick  walls  shut  away  the  vision, 
the  thickness  of  a  brick  shuts  out  all  knowledge.  But  with 
the  sweep  of  the  far  hills,  and  the  up-arching  blue,  comes 
a  human  relationship  that  takes  in  all  the  hills  include — 
nil  that  the  blue  looks  down  upon.  It  is  everybody's  busi 
ness  to  find  out  everybody,  and  to  know  just  how  everybody 
is  "getting  along." 

"  Faith,  with  her  young  adaptability,  found  great  fund 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.       119 

or  mtertainment  in  the  new  social  developments  that  un 
folded  themselves  at  Cross  Corners. 

All  sorts  of  quaint  vehicles  drove  up  under  the  elms  in 
the  afternoon  visiting  hours,  day  after  day,  —  hitched  horses, 
and  unladed  passengers.  Both  doctors  and  their  wives 
came  promptly,  of  course  ;  the  "  old  doctor"  from  the  vil 
lage,  and  the  "young  doctor  "from  "over  at  Lakeside." 
Quiet  Mrs.  Holland  walked  in  at  the  twilight,  by  herself, 
one  day,  to  explain  that  her  husband,  the  minister,  was  too 
unwell  to  visit,  and  to  say  her  pleasant,  unpretentious  words 
of  welcome.  Square  Leatherbee's  daughters  made  them 
selves  fine  in  lilac  silks  and  green  Estella  shawls,  to  offer 
acquaintance  to  the  new  "  city  people."  Aunt  Faith  came 
over,  once  or  twice  a  week,  at  times  when  "nobody  else 
would  be  round  under  foot,"  and  always  with  some  dainty 
offering  from  dairy,  garden,  or  kitchen.  At  other  hours, 
Glory  was  fain  to  seize  all  opportunity  of  errands  that  Miss 
Henderson  could  not  do,  and  irradiate  the  kitchen,  linger- 
ingly,  until  she  herself  might  be  more  ecstatically  irradiated 
with  a  glance  and  smile  from  Miss  Faith,  who  found  and 
came  to  understand  that  whatever  might  chance  to  bring 
her  over,  her  aunt's  handmaid  would  never  willingly  depart 
without  a  return  message,  or  an  inquiry  whether  "  there  was 
any  message  to  send,  if  she  pleased  ?  "  It  was  never  "  any 
matter  about  the  basket,"  and — "  oh,  dear  !  she  did  n't  wait 
to  be  thanked,  no  more  would  Miss  Henderson ;  "  but  what 
she  did  wait  for  hardly  appeared,  save  as  a  quick  kindliness 
might  divine  it,  seeing  that  she  had  no  sooner  got  her  thanks 
and  her  basket  from  Faith's  own  hand  and  lip,  than  she  was 
off.  shy  and  happy,  and  glorified  up  to  the  topmost  wave  of 
her  golden  locks. 

There  was  need   enough  of  Aunt  Faith's  ministrations 


120      FAITH   GARTNEY 'S   GIKLHOOD. 

during  these  first,  few,  unsettled  weeks.  The  young  woman 
who  "  had  no  objections  to  the  country,"  objected  no  more 
to  these  pleasant  country  fashions  of  neighborly  kindness. 
She  had  reason.  Aunt  Faith's  "thirds  bread,"  or  crisp 
"vanity  cakes,"  or  "velvet  creams,"  were  no  sooner  dis 
posed  of  than  there  surely  came  a  starvation  interval  of 
sour  biscuits,  heavy  gingerbread,  and  tough  pie-crust,  and 
dinners  feebly  cooked,  with  no  attempt  at  desserts,  at  all. 

This  was  gloomy.  This  was  the  first  trial  of  their  country 
life.  Plainly,  this  cook  was  no  cook,  neither  could  she 
easily  be  replaced  with  a  better.  Mr.  Gartney 's  dyspepsia 
must  be  considered.  Kinnicutt  air  and  June  sunshine 
would  not  do  all  the  curative  work.  The  healthy  appetite 
they  stimulated  must  be  wholesomely  supplied. 

Faith  took  to  the  kitchen.  To  Glory's  mute  and  rap 
turous  delight,  she  began  to  come  almost  daily  up  the  field- 
path,  in  her  pretty  round  hat  and  morning  wrapper,  to 
waylay  her  aunt  in  the  tidy  kitchen  at  the  early  hour  when 
her  cookery  was  sure  to  be  going  on,  to  ask  questions  and 
investigate,  and  "  help  a  little,"  and  then  to  go  home  and 
repeat  the  operation  as  nearly  as  she  could  for  their  some 
what  later  dinner. 

"Miss  McGonegal  seems  to  be  improving,"  observed  Mr. 
Gartney,  complacently,  one  day,  as  he  partook  of  a  simple, 
but  favorite  pudding,  nicely  flavored  and  compounded ; 
"  or  is  this  a  charity  of  Aunt  Henderson's?  " 

"No,"  replied  his  wife,  "it  is  home-manufacture,"  — 
and  she  glanced  at  Faith  without  dropping  her  tone  to  a 
period.  Faith  shook  her  head,  and  the  sentence  hung  in 
the  air,  unfinished. 

Mrs.  Gartney  had  not  been  strong,  for  years.  Moreover, 
she  had  not  a  genius  for  cooking.  That  is  a  real  gift,  as 


FAITH    GARTNET'S    GIRLHOOD.       121 

much  as  a  genius  for  poetry  or  painting.  Faith  was  finding 
out,  suddenly,  that  she  had  it.  But  she  was  quite  willing 
that  her  father  should  rest  in  the  satisfactory  belief  that 
Miss  McGonegal,  in  whom  it  never,  by  any  possibility, 
could  be  developed,  was  improving;  and  that  the  good 
things  that  found  their  way  to  his  table  had  a  paid  and  per 
manent  origin.  He  was  more  comfortable  so,  she  thought 
Meanwhile,  they  would  inquire  if  the  region  round  about 
Kinnicutt  might  be  expected  to  afford  a  substitute. 

Dr.  Wasgatt's  wife  told  Mrs.  Gartney  of  a  young  Amer 
ican  woman  who  was  staying  in  the  "factory  village"  be 
yond  Lakeside,  and  who  had  asked  her  husband  if  he  knew 
of  any  place  where  she  could  "  hire  out."  Doctor  Wasgatt 
would  be  very  glad  to  take  her  or  Miss  Faith  over  there,  of 
a  morning,  to  see  if  she  would  answer. 

Faith  was  very  glad  to  go. 

Doctor  Wasgatt  was  the  "  old  doctor."  A  benign  man, 
as  old  doctors,  —  when  they  don't  grow  contrariwise,  and 
become  unspeakably  gruff  and  crusty,  —  are  apt  to  be.  A 
benign  old  doctor,  a  docile  old  horse,  an  old-fashioned  two- 
wheeled  chaise  that  springs  to  the  motion  like  a  bough  at  a 
bird-flitting,  and  an  indescribable  June  morning  wherein  to 
drive  four  miles  and  back,  —  well !  Faith  could  n't  help 
exulting  in  her  heart  that  they  wanted  a  cook. 

It  took  them  a  long  while  to  accomplish  the  four  miles, 
though.  It  was  lucky  the  first  dish  of  strawberries  was 
ready  in  the  ice,  for  dinner,  and  that  the  roast  lamb  of  yes 
terday  was  to  be  eaten  cold  to-day,  and  that  Mahala  had 
promised  to  see  that  Norah  did  n't  overboil  the  peas.  Faith 
was  free,  so,  to  enjoy  to  the  full  all  the  enchantment  and 
novelty  of  her  drive,  and  not  to  care  a  bit  if  she  should  n't 

get  home  till  sunset. 
11 


122      FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

Doctor  Wasgatt  had  half-a-dozen  patients  to  see  between 
Cross  Comers  and  the  factory  village.  Half-a-dozen,  that 
is,  that  he  had  known  of,  and  set  out  with  intent  to  see ; 
and  half-a-dozen  more,  or  thereabouts,  to  whom  he  was 
summoned  by  waylayment.  A  woman  standing  at  the 
window  of  one  house  upon  the  road,  holding  a  pillow  by 
the  end  between  her  teeth,  and  preparing  to  shake  it  into 
Us  case,  spied  his  chaise  with  the  eye  she  had  kept  outward 
for  the  purpose  all  the  morning,  and,  dropping  her  extraor 
dinary  mouthful,  as  the  raven  did  who  sang,  of  old,  to  the 
fox,  hailed  him  with  outstretched  head  and  sudden  cry. 
And  then,  with  the  overzeal  some  women  have  who  never 
know  when  a  thing  is  accomplished,  she  distrusted  the  force 
of  a  single  shot  across  his  bows,  and  seeing  that  he  appeared 
about  to  pass  the  gate,  —  which  was  really  that  he  might 
only  place  his  horse  and  his  companion  under  the  shade  of 
the  butternuts  beyond, — leaned  half  her  person  from  the 
window  and  fluttered  the  pillow-case  at  arm's  length  at 
him,  as  a  signal  to  lay  to.  Which,  at  the  moment,  he  did  ; 
leaving  Faith,  not  unwilling,  under  the  flickering  shade  of 
.the  tall  trees  ;  breathing  in,  with  all  June  balms  whereof 
the  air  was  full,  the  spicy  smell  of  a  chip-yard  round  the 
comer,  where  the  scraps  of  pine  lay  fervid  and  fragrant 
under  the  summer  sun. 

There  was  neither  sight,  nor  sound,  nor  odor,  this  perfect 
day,  but  seemed  an  addition  of  delight.  People  were  pic 
turesque,  even  though  they  held  feather-pillows  between 
their  teeth,  and  screamed  frantically  from  chamber  windows. 
The  joyous  and  bounteous  air  found  no  utterance  so  discord 
ant  that  it  could  not  take  into  its  clear,  mellow  sweep,  and 
soften  into  harmony.  The  crow  that  flew  over  the  young 
cornfields,  —  the  farmer  hallooing  to  his  cattle,  —  the  creak 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.       123 

of  wagons,  —  all,  as  really  as  the  bird-twitterings  that 
rained,  pure  musical,  from  every  bough, — made  up  a  sum 
mer  melody  together.  Faith  could  n't  be  left  suddenly  any 
where,  to  wait  while  Doctor  Wasgatt  dispensed  pills,  and 
drops,  and  powders,  where  it  was  n't  an  ecstasy  to  be. 

At  another  farm-house  dooryard,  an  urchin  had  had  an 
hour's  swing  on  the  otherwise  forbidden  gate,  that  he  might, 
by  that  means,  be  at  hand  to  "stop  the  doctor."  It  ia 
greatly  to  be  feared  that  "  grandma'am's  bad  night "  had 
hardly  been  deplored  with  a  due  sympathy,  meanwhile. 

There  were  scarcely  any  other  patients,  in  truth,  to-day, 
among  them  all,  than  the  old,  who  were  "  kinder  pulled 
down  by  the  warm  spell,"  or  babies,  who  must  cut  teeth, 
and  consequently  worry,  though  the  earth  they  had  scarcely 
looked  upon  was  rioting  in  all  this  growing  joy,  cutting, 
painless,  quick,  green  blades  of  life  everywhere,  and  so 
smiling  but  the  more  widely ;  and  two  or  three  consump 
tive  invalids,  who  must  soon  shut  their  weary  eyes  upon 
the  summer,  let  her  lavish  herself  gloriously  as  she  might 
What  others,  truly,  could  be  ill  in  June  ? 

The  way  was  very  lovely  toward  Lakeside,  and  across  to 
Factory  Village.  It  crossed  the  capricious  windings  of 
Wachaug  two  or  three  times  within  the  distance,  and  then 
bore  round  the  Pond  Road,  which  kept  its  old  traditional 
cognomen,  though  the  new  neighborhood  that  had  grown 
up  at  its  farther  bend  had  got  a  modern  name,  and  the 
beautiful  pond  itself  had  corne  to  be  known  with  a  legiti 
mate  dignity  as  Lake  Wachaug. 

Graceful  birches,  with  a  spring,  and  a  joyous,  whispered 
(ecret  in  every  glossy  leaf,  leaned  over  the  road  toward  the 
yater ;  and  close  down  to  its  ripples  grew  wild  shrubs  and 
flowers,  and  lush  grass,  and  lady-bracken,  while  out  over 


124       FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

the  still  depths  rested  green  lily-pads,  like  floating  throueg 
waiting  the  fair  water-queens  who,  a  few  weeks  hence, 
should  rise  to  claim  them.  Back,  behind  the  birches, 
readied  the  fringe  of  woodland  that  melted  away,  pres 
ently  in  the  sunny  pastures,  and  held  in  bush  and  branch 
hundreds  of  little  mother-birds,  brooding  in  »  still  rapture, 
like  separate  embodied  pulses  of  the  Universal  Love,  over 
a  coming  life  and  joy. 

Life  and  joy  were  everywhere.  A  thrill  came  up  from 
the  warm  earth,  where  insect  and  root  were  stirring  at  its 
every  pore,  and  the  whole  air  was  tremulous  with  a  gentle 
breath  and  motion.  The  sunlight  danced  and  ohimmered 
downward  through  the  sky,  as  with  the  verj  overcharge  of 
vitality  it  came  to  bring.  Faith's  heart  danced  and  glowed 
within  her.  She  had  thought,  many  a,  time  before,  that 
she  was  getting  somewhat  of  the  joy  of  the  country,  when, 
after  dinner  and  business  were  over,  she  had  come  out  from 
Misliaumok,  in  proper  fashionable  toilette,  with  her  father 
and  mother,  for  an  afternoon  airing  in  the  city  environs. 
But  here,  in  the  old  doctor's  "one-hoss  shay,"  and  with 
her  round  straw  hat  and  chintz  wrapper  on,  she  was  finding 
out  what  a  rapturously  different  thing  it  is  to  go  out  into 
the  bountiful  morning,  and  identify  one's  self  therewith. 

She  had  almost  forgotten  that  she  had  any  other  errand 
when  they  turned  away  from  the  lake,  and  took  a  little 
side  road  that  wound  off  from  it,  and  struck  the  river  again, 
and  brought  them  at  last  to  the  Wachaug  Mills  and  Ahe 
little  factory  settlement  around  them. 

"This  is  Mrs.  Pranker's,"  said  the  doctor,  stopping  at 
the  third  doer  in  a  block  of  factory  houses,  "and  it's  a 
sister-in-law  of  hers  who  wants  to  '  hire  out'  I  've  a  pa 
tient  in  the  next  row,  and  if  you  like.  I  '11  leave  you  here 
a  few  minutes," 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.       125 

Faith's  foot  was  instantly  on  the  chaise-step,  and  she 
sprang  to  the  ground  with  only  an  acknowledging  touch  of 
the  good  doctor's  hand,  upheld  to  aid  her. 

A  white-haired  boy  of  three,  making  gravel  puddings  in 
a  scolloped  tin  dish  at  the  door,  scrambled  up  as  she  ap 
proached,  upset  his  pudding,  and  sidled  up  the  steps  in  a 
scared  fashion,  with  a  finger  in  his  mouth,  and  his  round 
gray  eyes  sending  apprehensive  peeps  at  her  through  the 
linty  locks. 

"  Well,  tow-head  !  "  ejaculated  an  energetic  female  voice 
within,  to  an  accompaniment  of  swashing  water,  and  a 
scrape  of  a  bucket  along  the  floor  ;  "  what 's  wanting  now  ? 
Can't  you  stay  put,  nohow  ?  " 

An  unintelligible  jargon  of  baby  chatter  followed,  which 
seemed,  however,  to  have  conveyed  an  idea  to  the  mother's 
mind,  for  she  appeared  immediately  in  the  passage,  drying 
her  wet  arms  upon  her  apron. 

"  Mrs.  Franker  ?  "  asked  Faith. 

"  That 's  my  name,"  replied  the  woman,  as  who  should 
say,  peremptorily,  "what  then?" 

"  I  was  told  —  my  mother  heard  —  that  a  sister  of  yours 
was  looking  for  a  place." 

"  She  haint  done  much  about  lookin',"  was  the  reply,  "  but 
she  was  say  in'  she  did  n't  know  but  what  she  'd  hire  out  for 
a  spell,  if  anybody  wanted  her.  She  'a  in  the  keepin'-room. 
You  can  come  in  and  speak  to  her,  if  you  're  a  mind  to. 
The  kitchen  floor's  wet.  I  'm  jest  a  washin'  of  it.  — You 
little  sperrit !  "  This  to  the  child,  who  was  amusing  him 
self  with  the  floor-cloth  which  he  had  fished  out  of  the 
bucket,  and  held  up,  dripping,  letting  a  stream  of  dirty 
water  run  down  the  front  of  his  red  calico  frock.  "If 
children  aint  the  biggest  torments  !  Talk  about  Job  I  His 
11* 


126      FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

wife  had  to  have  more  patience  than  he  did,  I  '11  be  bound  1 
A.nd  patience  aint  any  use,  either !  The  more  you  have, 
the  more  you  're  took  advantage  of !  I  declare  and  testify, 
it  makes  me  as  cross  as  sin,  jest  to  think  how  good-natured 
I  be!"  And  with  this,  she  snatched  the  cloth  from  the 
boy's  hands,  shook  first  him  and  then  his  frock,  to  get 
rid,  in  so  far  as  a  shake  might  accomplish  it,  of  original 
depravity  and  sandy  soapsuds,  and  carried  him,  vociferant, 
to  the  door,  where  she  set  him  down  to  the  consolation  of 
gravel- pudding  again. 

Meanwhile  Faith  crossed  the  sloppy  kitchen,  on  tiptoe, 
toward  an  open  door,  that  revealed  a  room  within. 

Here  a  very  fat  young  woman,  with  a  rather  pleasant 
face,  was  seated,  sewing,  in  a  rocking-chair,  her  elbowa 
resting  on  the  arms  thereof,  and  her  work  held  up,  so,  be 
fore  her,  while  her  feet,  visible  below  the  hem  of  her  dress 
at  a  rather  wide  interval  from  each  other,  were  keeping  up, 
by  a  slight,  regular  rebound  from  the  floor,  an  easy  motion 
that  seemed  not  at  all  to  interfere  with  her  use  of  the 
needle. 

She  did  not  rise,  or  move,  at  Faith's  entrance,  otherwise 
than  to  look  up,  composedly,  and  let  fall  her  arms  along 
those  of  the  chair,  retaining  the  needle  in  one  hand  and 
her  work  in  the  other. 

"  I  came  to  see,"  said  Faith,  —  obliged  to  say  something 
so  explain  her  presence,  but  secretly  appalled  at  the  mag 
nitude  of  the  subject  she  had  to  deal  with,  —  "if  you 
wanted  a  place  in  a  family." 

••  Take  a  seat,"  said  the  young  woman. 

Faith  availed  herself  of  one,  and,  doubtful  precisely 
what  to  say  next,  waited  for  indications  from  the  othei 
party. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.       127 

"Well  —  I  was  calc'latin'  to  hire  out  this  summer,  but 
\  aiot  very  partic'ler  about  it,  neither." 

She  made  little  scratches,  indifferently,  on  the  end  of  the 
chair-arm,  with  the  point  of  her  needle,  as  she  spoke,  and 
rubbed  them  out  with  the  moist  finger-tip  from  which  she 
had  slipped  her  thimble. 

"Can  you  cook?" 

"  Most  kinds.  I  can't  do  much  fancy  cookin'.  Guess  I 
can  make  bread,  —  all  sorts,  —  and  roast,  and  bile,  and 
see  to  common  fixin's,  though,  as  well  as  the  next  one  !  " 

"  We  like  plain  country  cooking,"  said  Faith,  thinking 
of  Aunt  Henderson's  delicious,  though  simple,  prepara 
tions.  "  And  I  suppose  you  can  make  new  things  if  you 
have  direction." 

"  Well  —  I'm  pretty  good  at  workin'  out  a  resate,  too. 
But  then,  I  aint  anyways  partic'ler  'bout  hirin'  out,  as  I 
said  afore." 

Faith  judged  rightly  that  this  was  a  salvo  put  in  for 
pride.  The  Yankee  girl  would  not  appear  anxious  for  a 
servile  situation.  All  the  while  the  conversation  went  on, 
she  sat  tilting  herself  gently  back  and  forth  in  the  rocking- 
chair,  with  a  lazy  touching  of  her  toes  to  the  floor.  Her 
very  vis  inertice  would  not  let  her  stop. 

Faith's  only  question,  now,  was  with  herself, — how  she 
should  get  away  again.  She  had  no  idea  that  this  huge, 
indolent  creature  would  be  at  all  suitable  as  their  servant. 
And  then,  her  utter  want  of  manners ! 

•'  I  '11  tell  my  mother  what  you  say,"  said  she,  rising. 
"  I  only  came  to  inquire." 

"  What *s  your  mother's  name,  and  where  d'  ye  live? " 

"We  live  at  Kinnicutt  Cross  Corners.  My  mother  IB 
Mrs.  Henderson  Gartney." 

••'Ml" 


128      FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

Faith  turned  toward  the  kitchen. 

"  Look  here !  "  called  the  stout  young  woman  after  her ; 
you  may  jest  say  if  she  wants  me  she  can  send  for  me.  I 
don't  mind  if  I  try  it  a  spell." 

"  I  didn't  ask  your  name,"  remarked  Faith,  pausing  on 
the  threshold  and  waiting  for  enlightenment. 

"  Oh !  my  name  's  Mis'  Battis !  " 

Faith  escaped  over  the  wet  floor,  sprang  past  the  white- 
haired  child  at  the  door-step,  and  was  just  in  time  to  be 
put  into  the  chaise  by  Doctor  Wasgatt,  who  drove  up  as  she 
came  out.  She  did  not  dare  trust  her  voice  to  speak  within 
hearing  of  the  house ;  but  when  they  had  come  round  the 
mills  again,  into  the  secluded  river  road,  she  startled  its 
quietness  and  the  doctor's  composure,  with  a  laugh  that 
rang  out  clear  and  overflowing  like  the  very  soul  of  fun. 

"  So  that's  all  you've  got  out  of  your  visit?  "  asked  the 
doctor,  guessing  easily  at  some  ludicrous  conjuncture. 

"  Yes,  that  is  all,"  said  Faith.  "  But  it 's  a  great  deal !  " 
And  she  laughed  again,  —  such  a  merry  little  waterfall  of 
a  laugh  as  chimed  in  wonderfully  with  all  the  broad,  bright 
cheer  of  the  summer  day,  and  made  a  fitting  music  there, 
between  the  woods  and  river. 

When  she  reached  home,  Mrs.  Gartney  met  her  at  tho 
door. 

"Well,  Faithie,"  she  cried,  somewhat  eagerly,  "what  have 
you  found  ?  " 

Faith's  eyes  danced  with  merriment. 

"  I  don't  know,  mother !  A  —  hippopotamus,  I  think !  " 

"  Won't  she  do?     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Why  she 's  ?s  big !  I  can't  tell  you  how  big !  And  she 
sat  in  a  rocking-chair  and  rocked  all  the  time,  —  and  shn 
says  her  namr  is  Miss  Battis  1 " 


FAITH   GARTNEY 'S   GIRLHOOD.       129 

Mrs.  Gartney  looked  rather  perplexed  than  amused. 

"  But,  Faith  !  —  I  can't  think  how  she  knew,  —  she  must 
have  been  listening,  —  Norah  has  been  so  horribly  angry ! 
And  she's  up  stairs  packing  her  things  to  go  right  off. 
H  jw  can  we  be  left  without  a  cook  ?  " 

"  It  seems  Miss  McGonegal  means  to  demonstrate  that 
we  can  !  Perhaps  —  the  hippopotamus  might  be  trained  to 
domestic  service  !  She  said  you  could  send  if  you  wanted 
her.  And  she  knows  about  plain  country  cooking." 

"  I  don't  see  anything  else  to  do.  Norah  won't  even  stay 
till  morning.  And  there  is  n't  a  bit  of  bread  in  the  house. 
I  can't  send  this  afternoon,  though,  for  your  father  has 
driven  over  to  Sedgely  about  some  celery  and  tomato  plants, 
and  won't  be  home  till  tea-time." 

"  I  '11  make  some  cream  biscuits  like  aunt  Faith's.  And 
I  '11  go  out  into  the  garden  and  find  Luther.  If  he  can't 
carry  us  through  the  Eeformation,  somehow,  he-  doesn't 
deserve  his  name." 

Luther  was  found  —  thought  Jerry  Blanchard  would  n't 
"  value  lettin'  him  have  his  old  horse  and  shay  for  an  hour." 
and  he  would  n't  "  be  mor  'n  that  goin'."  He  could  "  fetch 
her,  easy  enough,  if  that  was  all." 

Mis'  Battis  came. 

She  entered  Mrs.  Gartney's  presence  with  calm  noncha 
lance,  and  "flumped"  incontinently  into  the  easiest  and 
nearest  chair. 

Mrs.  Gartney  began  with  the  common  preliminary  —  the 
name.  Mis'  Battis  introduced  herself  as  before. 

"  But  your  first  name  ?  "  proceeded  the  lady. 

"  My  first  name  was  Parthenia  Pranker.     I  'm  a  relic." 

Mrs.  Gartney  experienced  an  internal  convulsion,  but 
retained  her  outward  composure. 


130       FAITH    GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

"  I  suppose  you  would  quite  as  lief  be  called  Parthenia  ?  " 

"Ruther,"  replied  the  relict,  laconically. 

And  Mrs.  Parthenia  Battis  was  forthwith  installed,  — 
pro  tern.,  — in  the  Cross  Corners  kitchen. 

"  She 's  got  considerable  gumption,"  was  the  opinion 
Luther  volunteered,  of  his  own  previous  knowledge, — for 
Mrs.  Battis  was  an  old  schoolmate  and  neighbor,  —  "  but 
she 's  powerful  slow." 


CHAPTER   XV 

NEW  DUTIES. 
"  Whatsoever  thy  band  findeth  to  do,  do  it  with  thy  might."— Boo.  9:  10. 

"  A  servant  with  this  clause 

Makes  d  udgery  divine  ;  — 
Who  sweeps  a  room  as  for  Thy  laws, 
Makes  that  and  the  action  fine." 

GEORGE  HERBERT. 

Mis'  BATTIS'S  "gumption"  was  a  relief,  —  conjoined, 
even,  as  it  was,  to  a  mighty  inertia,  —  after  the  experience 
of  Norah  McGonegal's  utter  incapacity ;  and  her  admission, 
pro  tempore,  came  to  be  tacitly  looked  upon  as  a  permanent 
adoption,  for  want  of  a  setter  alternative.  She  continued 
to  seat  herself,  unabashed,  whenever  opportunity  offered,  in 
the  presence  of  the  fau.ily ;  and  invariably  did  so,  when 
Mrs.  Gartney  either  sent  for,  or  came  to  her,  to  give  orders. 
Dishcloth,  or  rolling-pin,  or  bread-knife,  or  poker,  or  what 
ever  other  utensil  in  hand,  —  down  she  would  plump  the 
instant  active  operations,  if  hers  might  ever  be  so  denomi 
nated,  were  suspended,  Ly  having  her  attention  demanded 
otherwise.  She  always  spoke  of  Mr.  Gartney  as  "  be,"  ad 
dressed  her  mistress  as  Miss  Gartney,  and  ignored  all  prefix 
to  the  gentle  name  of  Faith.  The  first  of  these  habits  was 
eimply  borne  with,  in  consideration  of  inalienable  laws. 


132      FAITH    GARTNEY'%    GIRLHOOD. 

Heavy  bodies  have  a  right  to  gravitate ;  and  power  of 
resistance  can  only  be  expected  in  inverse  proportion  to  the 
force  of  attraction.  For  the  matter  of  appellations,  Mrs. 
Grartney  at  last  remedied  the  pronominal  difficulty  by  inva 
riably  applying  all  remarks  bearing  no  other  indication, 
to  that  other  "he"  of  the  household  —  Luther.  Her  own 
claim  to  the  matronly  title  she  gave  up  all  hope  of  estab 
lishing  ;  for  if  the  "  relic' "  abbreviated  her  own  wifely  dis 
tinction,  how  should  she  be  expected  to  dignify  other 
people  ? 

As  to  Faith,  her  mother  ventured  one  day,  sensitively 
and  timidly,  to  speak  directly  to  the  point. 

"  My  daughter  has  always  been  accustomed  to  be  called 
Miss  Faith,"  she  said,  gently,  in  reply  to  an  observation  of 
Parthenia's,  in  which  the  ungarnished  name  had  twice  been 
used.  "  It  i:>  n't  a  very  important  matter,  —  still,  it  would 
be  pleasanter  to  us,  and  I  dare  say  you  won't  mind  trying 
to  remember  it  ?  " 

"  'M !  "  Mis'  Battis's  invariable  intonation  in  response 
to  the  suggestion  of  any  new  idea  was  somewhat  prolonged. 
"  No,  —  I  aint  partic'ler.  Faith  aint  a  long  name,  and 
't  won't  be  much  trouble  to  put  a  handle  on,  if  that 's  what 
you  want.  It 's  English-fashion,  aint  it  ?  " 

Parthenia's  coolness  enabled  Mrs.  Gartney  to  assert,  some 
what  more  confidently,  her  own  dignity. 

"  It  is  a  fashion  of  respect  and  courtesy,  everywhere,  I 
believe." 

"  'M ! "  re-ejaculated  the  relict 

Thereafter,  Faith  was  "  Miss,"  with  a  slight  pressure  of 
emphasis  upon  the  handle. 

"Mamma!"  cried  Hendie,  impetuously,  one  day,  as  ho 
rushed  in  from  a  walk  with  his  attendant,  "  I  hate  Mahala 


FAITH    GARTNEY 'S   GIRLHOOD.       133 

Harris !     I  wish  you  'd  let  me  dress  myself,  and  go  to  walk 
alone,  and  send  her  off  to  Jericho ! " 

"Whereabouts  do  you  suppose  Jericho  to  be?"  asked 
Faith,  laughing. 

"I  don't  know.  It's  where  she  keeps  wishing  I  was, 
vhen  she  's  cross,  and  I  want  anything.  I  wish  she  waa 
there  !  —  and  I  mean  to  ask  papa  to  send  her !  " 

"  Go  and  take  your  hat  off,  Hendie,  and  have  your  hair 
brushed,  and  your  hands  washed,  and  then  come  back  in  a 
nice  quiet  little  temper,  and  we  '11  talk  about  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Gartney. 

"I  think,"  said  Faith  to  her  "mother,  as  the  boy  was 
heard  mounting  the  stairs  to  the  nursery,  right  foot  fore 
most  all  the  way,  "  that  Mahala  does  n't  manage  Hendie 
as  she  ought.  She  keeps  him  in  a  fret.  I  hear  them  in 
the  morning  while  I  am  dressing.  She  seems  to  talk  to 
him  in  a  taunting  sort  of  way ;  and  he  gets  so  angry,  some 
times!  I  'm  afraid  she  's  spoiling  his  temper." 

"What  can  we  do?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Gartney,  worriedly. 
"These  changes  are  dreadful.  We  might  get  some  one 
worse.  And  then  we  can't  afford  to  pay  extravagantly. 
Mahala  has  been  content  to  take  less  wages,  and  I  think 
she  means  to  be  faithful.  Perhaps  if  I  make  her  under 
stand  how  important  it  is,  she  will  try  a  different  manner." 

"  Only  it  might  be  too  late  to  do  much  good,  if  Hendie 
has  really  got  to  dislike  her.  And  —  besides —  I  've  been 
thinking,  —  only,  you  will  say  I  'm  so  full  of  projects  —  " 

Put  what  the  project  was,  Mrs.  Gartney  did  not  hear  at 
once,  for  just  then  Hendic's  voice  was  heard  again  at  the 
head  of  the  stairs. 

"  I  tell  you,  mother  said  I  might !    I  'm  going — down — 
in  a  nice  —  little  temper  —  to  ask  her  —  to  send  you —  to 
12 


134      FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

Jericho  I "  Left  foot  foremost,  a  drop  between  each  few 
syllables,  he  came  stumping,  defiantly,  down  the  stairs,  and 
appeared  with  all  his  eager  story  in  his  eyes. 

"  She  plagues  me,  mamma!  She  tells  me  to  see  who  '11 
get  dressed  first ;  and  if  she  does,  she  says,  — 

" «  The  first  'a  the  best, 

The  second  's  the  same ; 
The  last 's  the  worst 
Of  all  the  game!' 

And  if  /  gel  dressed  first,  —  all  but  the  buttoning,  you 
know,  —  she 

" '  The  last 's  the  best, 

The  second 's  the  same ; 
The  first 's  the  worst 
Of  all  the  game!' 

And  then  she  keeps  telling  me  that  '  her  little  sister  nevei 
behaved  like  me.'  I  asked  her  where  her  little  sister  was, 
and  she  said  she  'd  gone  over  Jordan.  I  'm  glad  of  it !  I 
wish  MaLala  would  go  too ! " 

Mrs.  Gartney  smiled,  and  Faith  could  not  help  laughing 
outright. 

Hendie  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears. 

"Everybody  keeps  plaguing  me!  It's  too  bad!"  he 
cried,  with  tumultuous  sobs. 

Faith  checked  her  laughter  instantly.  She  took  the  in- 
dignant  little  fellow  on  her  lap,  in  despite  of  some  slight, 
implacable  struggle  on  his  part,  and  kissed  his  pouting  lips. 

"No,  indeed,  Hendie !  We  would  n't  plague  you  for  all 
the  world !  And  you  don't  know  what  I  've  got  for  you, 
just  as  soon  as  you  're  ready  for  it ! " 

Hendie  took  his  little  knuckles  out  of  his  eyes,  and 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.       135 

looked  up,  inquiringly,  holding  his  hands  upraised,  mean 
time,  on  either  side  his  tearful  face,  as  quite  ready  to  begin 
crying  again,  in  case  the  proffered  diversion  should  not 
prove  satisfactory. 

"  A  bunch  of  great  red  cherries,  as  big  as  your  two 
hands!" 

The  hands  went  alternately  to  the  eyes  again,  and 
streaked  away  the  tears  for  clearer  seeing. 

"Where?" 

"  I  '11  get  them,  if  you  're  good.  And  then  you  can  go 
out  in  the  front  yard,  and  eat  them,  so  that  you  can  drop 
the  stones  on  the  grass." 

Hendie  was  soon  established  on  a  flat  stone  under  the 
old  chestnut-trees,  in  a  happy  temporary  oblivion  of  Ma- 
hala's  injustice,  and  her  little  sister's  unendurable  per 
fections. 

"  I  '11  tell  you,  mamma.  I  've  been  thinking  we  need  not 
keep  Mahala,  if  you  don't  wish.  She  has  been  so  used  to 
do  nothing  but  run  round  after  Hendie,  that,  really,  she 
is  n't  much  good  about  the  house  ;  and  I  '11  take  Hendie's 
trundle-bed  into  my  room,  and  there  '11  be  one  less  chamber 
to  take  care  of ;  and  you  know  we  always  dust  and  arrange 
down  here." 

"  Yes,  — but  the  sweeping,  Faithie !  And  the  washing  1 
Parthenia  never  would  get  through  with  it  all." 

"Well,  somebody  might  come  and  help  wash.  And  I 
guess  I  can  sweep." 

"But  I  can't  bear  to  put  you  to  such  work,  darling  1 
You  need  your  time  for  other  things." 

"  I  have  ever  so  much  time,  mother  !  And,  besides,  as 
Aunt  Faith  says,  I  don't  believe  it  makes  so  very  much 
matter  what  we  do.  I  was  talking  to  her,  the  other  day, 


136       FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

about  doing  coarse  work,  and  living  a  narrow,  common 
kind  of  life,  and  what  do  you  think  she  said  ?  " 

"  I  can't  tell,  of  course.     Something  blunt  and  original." 

"  We  were  out  in  the  garden.  She  pointed  to  some 
plants  that  were  coming  up  from  seeds,  that  had  just  two 
tough,  clumsy,  coarse  leaves.  '  What  do  you  call  them  ? ' 
said  auntie.  '  Cotyledons,  are  n't  they  ? '  said  I.  '  I  don't 
know  what  they  are  in  botany,'  said  she  ;  '  but  I  know  the 
use  of  'em.  They  '11  last  awhile,  and  help  feed  up  what  'a 
growing  inside  and  underneath,  and  by-and-by  they  '11  drop 
off,  when  they  're  done  with,  and  you  '11  see  what 's  been 
coming  of  it  Folks  can't  live  the  best  right  out  at  first, 
any  more  than  plants  can.  I  guess  we  all  want  some  kind 
of — cotyledons.'  " 

Mrs.  Gartney's  eyes  shone  with  affection,  and  something 
that  affection  called  there,  as  she  looked  upon  her  daughter. 

"I  guess  the  cotyledons  won't  hinder  your  growing," 
said  she. 

And  so,  in  a  few  days  after,  Mahala  was  dismissed,  and 
Faith  took  upon  herself  new  duties. 

It  was  a  bright,  happy  face  that  glanced  hither  and 
thither,  about  the  house,  those  fair  summer  mornings  ;  and 
it  was  n't  the  hands  alone  that  were  busy,  as  under  their 
dexterous  and  delicate  touch  all  things  arranged  themselves 
in  attractive  and  graceful  order.  Thought  straightened 
and  cleared  itself,  as  furniture  and  books  were  dusted  and 
set  right ;  and  while  the  carpet  brightened  under  the  broom, 
something  else  brightened  and  strengthened,  also,  within. 

It  is  so  true,  what  the  author  of  "Euthanasy"  tells  us, 
that  exercise  of  limb  and  muscle  develops  not  only  them 
selves,  but  what  is  in  us  as  we  work. 

stroke  of  the  hammer  upon  the  anvil  hardens 


FAITH   QARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.       137 

a  little  what  is  at  the  time  the  temper  of  the  smith's 
inind." 

"  The  toil  of  the  ploughman  furrows  the  ground,  and  so 
it  does  his  brow  with  wrinkles,  visibly  ;  and  invisibly,  but 
quite  as  certainly,  it  furrows  the  current  of  feeling,  com 
mon  with  him  at  his  work,  into  an  almost  unchangeable 
channel." 

Faith's  life-purpose  deepened  as  she  did  each  daily  task. 
She  had  hold,  already  of  the  "  high  and  holy  work  of  love  " 
that  had  been  prophesied. 

"  I  am  sure  of  one  thing,  mother,"  said  she,  gayly ;  "  if  1 
don't  learn  much  that  is  new,  I  am  bringing  old  knowledge 
into  play.  It 's  the  same  thing,  taken  hold  of  at  different 
ends.  I  've  learned  to  draw  straight  lines,  and  shade  pic- 
tures ;  and  so  there  is  n't  any  difficulty  in  sweeping  a  carpet 
clean,  or  setting  chairs  straight.  I  never  shall  wonder 
again  that  a  woman  who  never  heard  of  a  right  angle  can't 
lay  a  table  even." 

12* 


CKAPTEE  XVL 

"  BLESSED  BE  YE,  POOB." 

And  BO  we  yearn,  and  so  we  sigh, 
And  reach  for  more  than  we  can  see; 

And,  Witless  of  our  folded  wings, 
Walk  Paradise,  unconsciously. 

OCTOBER  came,  and  brought  small  dividends.  The  ex- 
penses  upon  the  farm  had  necessarily  been  considerable, 
also,  to  put  things  in  "good  running  ordei."  Mr.  Gart- 
ney's  health,  though  greatly  improved,  was  not  yet  so  con 
fidently  to  be  relied  on,  as  to  make  it  advisable  for  him  to 
think  of  any  change,  as  yet,  with  a  view  to  business.  In 
deed,  there  was  little  opportunity  for  business,  to  tempt 
him.  Everything  was  flat.  The  exhaustion  of  the  great 
financial  struggle  it  had  passed  through  lay,  like  a  paral 
ysis,  upon  the  community.  There  was  neither  confidence 
nor  credit.  Without  actual  capital,  nothing  could  be  done. 
Mr.  Gartney  must  wait.  But  when  a  man  finds  himself, 
at  fiv3-and-forty  years  of  age,  out  of  business,  with  broken 
health,  and  in  disastrous  times,  there  is  little  likelihood  of 
his  launching  successfully  ever  again  into  any  large  mer 
cantile  life.  Mrs.  Gartney  and  Faith  felt,  though  they 
talked  of  waiting,  that  the  prospect  really  before  them  wag 
that  of  a  careful,  obscure  life,  upon  a  very  limited  income. 
The  house  in  Mishaumok  had  stood  vacant  all  the  summer 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.       139 

There  was  hope,  of  course,  of  letting  it  now,  as  the  winter 
season  came  on,  but  rents  were  falling,  and  people  were 
timid  and  discouraged.  Nobody  made  any  sort  of  move 
who  could  help  it 

October  was  beautiful  at  Kinnicutt.  And  Faith,  when 
she  looked  out  over  the  glory  of  woods  and  sky,  and  felt  the 
joy  of  the  sunshine,  as  the  hem  of  summer's  departing  robe 
overswept  the  bright  frost-broideries  of  autumn,  making 
such  a  palpable  blessedness  abroad  —  felt  rich  with  the 
great  wealth  of  the  world,  and  forgot  about  economies  and 
privations.  She  was  so  glad  they  had  come  here  with  their 
altered  plans,  and  had  not  struggled  shabbily  and  drearily 
on  in  Mishaumok ! 

It  was  only  when  some  chance  bit  of  news  from  the  city, 
or  a  girlish,  gossipy  note  from  some  school-friend  found  its 
way  to  Cross  Corners,  that  she  felt,  a  little  keenly,  her 
denials,  —  realized  how  the  world  she  had  lived  in  all  her 
life  was  going  on  without  her,  and  how  here,  environed 
with  the  beauty  of  all  earth  and  heaven,  she  was  yet  so 
nearly  shut  out  from  congenial  human  companionship. 
There  were  so  many  things  she  had  hoped  to  learn,  and  to 
do,  and  to  enjoy,  that  now  must  be  only  dreams !  So  many 
things  she  felt  herself  fitted  for,  that  now  might  never  come 
in  her  way !  What  a  strange  thing  was  life !  A  longing— 
A  reaching  —  an  imagining  —  a  hoping,  —  was  it  ever  a 
substantial  grasping?  Were  we  just  put  here  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  things  that  might  be,  and  to  turn  away  from  all, 
Knowing  taat  it  may  not  be,  for  us? 

It  was  the  old  plaint  that  Glory  made,  in  her  dark  daya 
of  childhood,  —  this  feeling  of  despondency  and  loss  that 
assailed  Faith  now  and  then,  —  "  such  lots  of  good  times  in 
the  world,  and  she  not  in  'em !  " 


HO       FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

Mrs.  Etherege  and  Saidie  were  coming  home.  Gertrude 
Rushleigh,  Saidie's  old  intimate,  was  to  be  married  on  the 
twenty-eighth,  and  had  fixed  her  wedding  thus  for  the  very 
last  of  the  month,  that  Miss  Gartney  might  arrive  to  keep 
her  promise  of  long  time,  by  officiating  as  bridesmaid. 

The  family  eclipse  would  not  overshadow  Saidie.  She 
had  made  her  place  in  the  world  now,  and  with  her  aunt's 
aid  and  countenance,  would  keep  it.  It  was  quite  different 
with  Faith, — disappearing,  as  she  had  done,  from  notice, 
before  ever  actually  "coming  out." 

"  It  was  a  thousand  pities,"  Aunt  Etherege  said,  when 
she  and  Saidie  discussed  with  Mrs.  Gartney,  at  Cross  Cor 
ners,  the  family  affairs.  "  And  things  just  as  they  were, 
too!  Why,  another  year  might  have  settled  matters  for 
her,  so  that  this  need  never  have  happened !  At  any  rate, 
the  child  should  n't  be  moped  up  here,  all  winter !  " 

Mrs.  Etherege  had  engaged  rooms,  on  her  arrival,  at  the 
Mishaumok  House  ;  and  it  seemed  to  be  taken  for  granted 
by  her,  and  by  Saidie  as  well,  that  this  coming  home  was, 
as  Faith  had  long  ago  prophesied,  a  mere  visit ;  that  Miss 
Gartney  would,  of  course,  spend  the  greater  part  of  the 
winter  with  her  aunt ;  and  that  lady  extended  also  an  invi 
tation  to  Mishaumok  for  a  month  —  including  the  wedding 
festivities  at  the  Eushleighs '  —  to  Faith. 

Faith  shook  her  head.  She  "knew  she  couldn't  be 
spared  so  long."  Secretly,  she  doubted  whether  it  would 
be  a  good  plan  to  go  back  and  get  a  peep  at  things  that 
might  send  her  home  discontented  and  unhappy. 

But  her  mother  reasoned,  or  felt  impulse,  otherwise. 
Faithie  must  go.  "  The  child  must  n't  be  moped  up."  She 
would  get  on,  somehow,  without  her.  Mothers  always  can. 
So  Faith,  by  a  compromise,  went  for  a  fortnight.  Sh* 
eould  n't  quite  resist  her  newly-returned  sister. 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.       141 

Besides,  a  pressing  personal  invitation  had  come  from 
Margaret  Kushleigh  to  Faith  herself,  with  a  little  private 
announcement  at  the  end,  that  "  Paul  was  refractory,  and 
utterly  refused  to  act  as  fourth  groomsman,  unless  Faith 
Gartney  were  got  to  come  and  stand  with  him." 

Faith  tore  off  the  postscript,  and  might  have  lit  it  at  her 
cheeks,  but  dropped  it,  of  habit,  into  the  fire ;  and  then  the 
note  was  at  the  disposal  of  the  family. 

It  was  a  whirl  of  wonderful  excitement  to  Faith  —  that 
fortnight !  So  many  people  to  see,  so  much  to  hear,  and  in 
the  midst  of  all,  the  gorgeous  wedding  festival ! 

What  wonder  if  a  little  dream  flitted  through  her  head, 
as  she  stood  there,  in  the  marriage  group,  at  Paul  Rush- 
Icigh's  side,  and  looked  about  her  on  the  magnificent  fashion 
wherein  the  affection  of  new  relatives  and  old  friends  had 
made  itself  tangible ;  and  heard  the  kindly  words  of  the 
elder  Mr.  Rushleigh  to  Kate  Livingston,  who  stood  with 
his  son  Philip,  and  whose  bridal,  it  was  well  known,  was  to 
come  next?  Jewels,  and  silver,  and  gold,  are  such  flashing, 
concrete  evidences  of  love !  And  the  courtly  condescension 
of  an  old  and  world-honored  man  to  the  young  girl  whom 
his  son  has  chosen,  is  such  a  winning  and  distinguishing 
thing ! 

Paul  Eushleigh  had  finished  his  college  course,  and  waa 
to  go  abroad  this  winter  —  between  the  weddings,  as  he 
said  —  for  his  brother  Philip's  was  to  take  place  in  the 
coming  spring.  After  that,  —  things  were  not  quite  settled, 
but  something  was  to  be  arranged  for  him  meanwhile,  — 
he  would  have  to  begin  his  work  in  the  world ;  and  then  — 
he  supposed  it  would  be  time  for  him  to  find  a  helpmeet 
Marrying  was  like  dying,  he  believed  ;  when  a  family  once 
began  to  go  off  there  was  soon  an  end  of  it! 


.42       FAITH  GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

Blushes  were  the  livery  of  the  evening,  and  Faith's  deeper 
glow  at  this  audacious  rattle  passed  unheeded,  except,  per 
haps,  as  it  might  be  somewhat  wilfully  interpreted. 

There  were  two  or  three  parties  made  for  the  newly- 
married  couple  in  the  week  that  followed.  The  week  after, 
Paul  Eushleigh,  with  the  bride  and  groom,  was  to  sail  for 
Europe.  At  each  of  these  brilliant  entertainments  he  con 
stituted  himself,  as  in  duty  bound,  Faith's  knight  and  sworn 
attendant;  and  a  superb  bouquet  for  each  occasion,  the 
result  of  the  ransack  of  successive  greenhouses,  came 
punctually,  from  him,  to  her  door.  For  years  afterward,  — 
perhaps  for  all  her  life,  —  Faith  could  n't  smell  heliotrope, 
and  geranium  and  orange  flowers,  without  floating  back, 
momentarily,  into  the  dream  of  those  few,  enchanted  days ! 

She  staid  in  Mishaumok  a  little  beyond  the  limit  she  had 
fixed  for  herself,  to  go,  with  the  others,  on  board  the  steamer 
at  the  time  of  her  sailing,  and  see  the  gay  party  off.  Paul 
Rushleigh  had  more  significant  words,  and  another  gift  of 
flowers  as  a  farewell. 

When  she  carried  these  last  to  her  own  room,  to  put  them 
iu  water,  on  her  return,  something  she  had  not  noticed  be 
fore  glittered  among  their  stems.  It  was  a  delicate  little 
ring,  of  twisted  gold,  with  a  forget-me-not  in  turquoise  and 
enamel  upon  the  top. 

Faith  was  half- pleased,  half- frightened,  and  wholly 
ashamed. 

Paul  Rushleigh  was  miles  out  on  the  Atlantic.  There  was 
no  help  for  it,  she  thought  It  had  been  cunningly  done. 

And  so,  in  the  short  November  days,  she  went  back  to 
K  innicutt. 

The  east  parlor  had  to  be  shut  up  now,  for  the  winter 
The  family  gathering-place  was  the  sunny  little  sitting- 


JAITII  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.       U3 

room ;  and  with  closed  doors  and  doubled  windows,  they 
began,  for  the  first  time,  to  find  that  they  were  really  living 
in  a  little  bit  of  a  house 

It  was  very  pretty,  though,  with  the  rich  carpet  and  the 
crimson  curtains  that  had  come  from  Hickory  Street,  replac 
ing  the  white  muslin  draperies  and  straw  matting  of  the 
Bummer ;  and  the  books  and  vases,  and  statuettes  and  pic 
tures,  gathered  into  so  small  space,  seemed  to  fill  the  room 
with  luxury  and  beauty. 

Faith  nestled  her  little  work-stand  into  a  nook  between 
the  windows.  Hcndie's  blocks  and  picture  books  were 
etowed  in  a  corner  cupboard.  Mr.  Gartney's  newspapers 
and  pamphlets,  as  they  came,  found  room  in  a  deep  drawer 
below  ;  and  so,  through  the  wintry  drifts  and  gales,  they 
were  "  close  hauled  "  and  comfortable. 

Faith  was  happy ;  yet  she  thought,  now  and  then,  when 
.he  whistling  wind  broke  the  stillness  of  the  dark  evenings, 
of  light  and  music  elsewhere ;  and  how,  a  year  ago,  there 
had  always  been  the  chance  of  a  visitor  or  two  to  drop  in, 
and  while  away  the  hours.  Nobody  rang  the  bell  or  lifted 
the  old-fashioned  knocker,  here  at  Cross  Corners. 

By  day,  even,  it  was  scarcely  different.  Kinnicutt  was 
hibernating.  Each  household  had  drawn  into  its  shell. 
And  the  huge  drifts,  lying  defiant  against  the  fences  in  the 
short,  ineffectual  winter  sunlight,  held  out  little  hope  of 
reanimation.  Aunt  Faith,  in  her  pumpkin  hood,  and  Rob 
Roy  cloak,  and  carpet  moccasins,  came  over  once  in  two  01 
three  days,  and  even  occasionally  staid  to  tea,  and  helped 
make  up  a  rubber  of  whist  for  Mr.  Gartney's  amusement ; 
but.  beyond  this,  they  had  no  social  excitement. 

January  brought  a  thaw ;  and.  still  further  to  break  the 
monotony,  there  arose  a  stir  and  an  anxiety  in  the  parish. 


144      FAITH    GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

Good  Mr.  Holland,  its  minister  of  thirty  years,  whoso 
health  had  been  failing  for  many  months,  was  at  last  com 
pelled  to  relinquish  the  duties  of  his  pulpit  for  a  time  ;  and 
a  supply  was  sought  with  the  ultimate  probability  of  a  suc 
cession.  A  new  minister  came  to  preach,  who  was  to  fill  the 
pastor's  place  for  the  ensuing  three  months  On  his  first 
Sunday  among  them,  Faith  heard  a  wonderful  sermon. 

I  indicate  thus,  not  the  oratory,  nor  the  rhetoric  ;  but  the 
sermon,  of  which  these  were  the  mere  vehicle,  —  the  word 
of  truth  itself,  —  which  was  spoken,  seemingly,  to  her  very 
thought 

So  also,  as  certainly,  to  the  long  life-thought  of  one 
other.  Glory  McWhirk  sat  in  Miss  Henderson's  corner 
pew,  and  drank  it  in,  as  a  soul  athirst. 

A  man  of  middle  age,  one  might  have  said,  at  first  sight, 
—  there  was,  here  and  there,  a  silver  gleam  in  the  dark 
hair  and  beard ;  yet  a  fire  and  earnestness  of  youth  in  the 
deep,  beautiful  eye,  and  a  look  in  the  face  as  of  life's  first 
flush  and  glow  Bot  lost,  but  rather  merged  in  broader  light, 
still  climbing  to  its  culmination,  belied  these  tokens,  ind 
made  it  as  if  a  white  frost  had  fallen  in  June,  —  rising  up 
before  the  crowded  village  congregation,  looked  round  upon 
the  upturned  faces,  as  One  had  looked  before  who  brought 
the  bread  of  Life  to  men's  eager  asking ;  and  uttered  the 
self-same  simple  words. 

It  was  a  certain  pause  and  emphasis  he  made,  —  a  slight 
new  rendering  of  punctuation, — that  sent  home  the  force 
of  those  words  to  the  people  who  heard  them,  as  if  it  had 
been  for  the  n'rct  time,  and  fresh  from  the  lips  of  the  Great 
Teacher.  , 

"  Blessed  are  the  poor:  in  spirit :  for  theirs  is  the  king 
dom  of  heaven." 


FAITH   GARTNEJ'S   GIRLHOOD.       145 

"  Herein  Christ  spoke,  not  to  a  class,  only,  but  to  the 
world !  A  world  of  souls,  wrestling  with  the  poverty  of 
life! 

"In  that  whole  assemblage  —  that  great  concourse  —  that 
had  thronged  from  cities  and  villages  to  hear  His  words 
upon  the  mountain-side,  —  was  there,  think  you,  one  satis 
fied  nature  ? 

11  Friends —  are  ye  satisfied? 

"  Or,  does  every  life  come  to  know,  at  first  or  at  last,  how 
something,  —  a  hope,  or  a  possibility,  or  the  fulfilment  of 
a  purpose,  —  has  got  dropped  out  of  it,  or  has  even  never 
entered,  so  that  an  emptiness  yawns,  craving,  therein, 
forever  ? 

"  How  many  souls  hunger  till  they  are  past  their  ap 
petite  !  Go  on,  —  down  through  the  years,  —  needy  and 
waiting,  and  never  find  or  grasp  that  which  a  sure  instinct 
tells  them  they  were  made  for  ? 

"  This,  this  is  the  poverty  of  life !  These  are  the  poor,  to 
whom  God's  Gospel  was  preached  in  Christ!  And  to  these 
denied  and  waiting  ones  the  first  words  of  Christ's  preach 
ing  —  as  I  read  them  —  were  spoken  in  blessing. 

"  Because,  elsewhere,  he  blesses  the  meek ;  elsewhere  and 
presently,  he  tells  us  how  the  lowly  in  spirit  shall  inherit 
the  earth  ;  so,  when  I  open  to  this,  his  earliest  uttered  ben 
ediction  upon  our  race,  I  read  it  with  an  interpretation  that 
includes  all  humanity. 

" « Blessed,  in  spirit,  are  the  poor.  Theirs  is  the  kingdom 
(f  heaven.' 

"  They,  only,  who  go  without,  know,  truly,  what  it  is  to 
Aave.  The  light,  and  the  music,  and  the  splendor,  and  the 

13 


146       FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

feasting,  arc  greater  to  the  beggar  who  peeps  in  from  the 
Btreet,  than  to  him  who  sits  at  the  revel.  It  is  the  naked 
and  the  hungry  who  can  tell  you  best  the  good  of  food  and 
raiment.  So  we  live  in  a  paradox.  We  feel,  keenest,  the 
joy  we  never  come  to. 

"  Ye  who  have  missed  out  of  your  actual  living  the  an- 
awer  to  your  soul's  passionate  asking.  —  ye  whom  something 
afar  off,  that  ought  to  be  your  very  own,  passes  by  like  a 
mirage,  who  see,  away  off  upon  the  distant  horizon,  like 
dwellers  in  a  wintry  Arctic,  a  sun  circling  over  happier 
zones,  that  never  comes  nigh  your  zenith,  —  see  here  1 
where  the  unsetting  Sun  of  the  Kingdom  sends  down  its 
full  and  glorious  rays  into  the  secret  cold  and  ache  within 
you! 

"  Outside  may  be  cold  and  darkness.  Your  hands  may 
stretch  into  an  unresponsive  void.  Yet  in  your  spirits  are 
ye  blessed.  There  find  ye,  wide  open,  the  door  into  the 
Kingdom !  As  out  of  a  dream,  paths  impossible  to  sense 
and  every  day  show  plain  and  sudden  transit  into  distant 
places,  —  so  from  your  shut  souls  widens  out  an  entrance- 
way  into  God's  everlasting  Joy ! 

"  Yours  is  the  Kingdom  1  Because  earth  is  so  little,  the 
•world  that  lies  in  and  about  this  visible  that  we  call  earth 
becomes  so  much ! 

"  What  is  this  Kingdom  of  Heaven?  '  It  is  within  you.' 
It  is  that  which  you  hold,  and  live  in  spiritually  ;  the  real, 
of  which  all  earthly,  outward  being  and  having  are  but  the 
(show.  It  is  the  region  wherein  little  children  "do  always 
behold  the  Face  of  my  Father  which  is  in  Heaven."  It  is 


FAITH  GAATNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.       147 

where  we  are  when  we  shut  our  eyes  and  pray  in  the  word* 
that  Christ  taught  us. 

"  There  are  souls  who  do  not  need  to  live  out,  coarsely, 
in  detail.  Their  inward  conception  transcends  the  visiblo 
form.  Count  it  an  assurance  of  more  vital  good,  when  God 
denies  you. 

"  All  that  in  any  life  you  know  of  or  can  imagine  thai 
seems  to  you  lovely,  and  to  be  longed  for,  is  yours  already. 
in  that  very  longing.  You  take  its  essence,  so,  into  your 
souls.  And  you  hold  it  as  God's  promise  for  the  great 
time  to  come.  So  you  have  His  seal  upon  your  foreheads. 
So  He  calls  you,  and  shall  lead  you,  into  the  place  He  has 
prepared  for  you  from  the  foundation  of  the  world.  There 
is  no  joy,  —  there  is  no  beauty,  —  there  is  no  glory  of  living 
or  of  acting,  —  no  supreme  moment  you  can  picture  in  your 
dreams,  that  rs  not  in  your  life,  as  God  sees  it,  —  stirring 
in  the  intuition  you  have  of  it  now, — waiting  for  you  in 
the  glorious  fulfilment  that  shall  be  There  ! 

"  What  matters,  then,  where  your  feet  stand,  or  wherewith 
your  hands  are  busy?  So  that  it  is  the  spot  where  God  kas 
put  you,  and  the  work  He  has  given  you  to  do  ?  Your  real 
life  is  within,  —  hid  in  God  with  Christ,  —  ripening,  and 
strengthening,  and  waiting,  as  through  the  long,  geologic 
ages  of  night  and  incompleteness  waited  the  germs  of  all 
that  was  to  unfold  into  this  actual,  green,  and  bounteous 
earth ! 

"  Take  in  to  yourselves,  then,  fearlessly,  all  life  whereto 
your  own  life,  by  any  far  or  secret  sympathy,  touches,  — 


148       FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

for  it  is  yours!     Eejoice  with  that  which  doth  rejoice,  and 
weep  with  all  that  weeps  1 

"  Your  body  can  only  traverse  minute  spaces  of  a  tiny 
globe  :  the  minutes  of  your  breathing,  mortal  life  can  only 
give  you  time  for  puny  and  unfinished  action  ;  —  but  the 
soul  of  all  that  is  broad  and  beautiful,  noble  and  great, 
may  be  none  the  less  nourishing  within  you,  feeding  itself 
on  all  the  life  that  is  living,  or  has  been  living,  or  shall  be 
lived ! 

"  The  narrower  your  daily  round,  the  wider,  maybe,  the 
outreach.  Isolated  upon  a  barren  mountain-peak,  you  may 
take  in  river  and  lake,  —  forest,  field,  and  valley.  A  hun 
dred  gardens  and  harvests  lift  their  bloom  and  fulness  to 
your  single  eye. 

"  There  is  a  sunlight  that  contracts  the  vision  ;  there  is  a 
starlight  that  enlarges  it  to  take  in  infinite  space. 

"  God  sets  some  souls  in  shade,  alone. 
They  have  no  daylight  of  their  own. 
Only  in  lives  of  happier  ones 
They  see  the  shine  of  distant  suns. 

*'  God  knows.    Content  thec  with  thy  night. 
Thy  greater  heaven  hath  grander  light. 
To  day  is  close.    The  hours  are  small. 
Thou  sitst  afar,  and  hast  them  all. 

"  Lose  the  less  joy  that  doth  but  blind ; 
Reach  forth  a  larger  bliss  to  find. 
To-day  is  brief:  the  inclusive  spheres 
Ram  raptures  of  a  thousand  years." 

TTaith  could  not  tell  what  hymn  was  sung,  or  what  were 
tho  words  of  the  prayer  that  followed  the  sermon.  There 
was  a  music  and  an  uplifting  in  her  own  soul  that  made 
'hem  needless,  but  for  the  pause  they  gave  her. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.       149 

She  hardly  knew  that  a  notice  was  read  as  the  people 
rose  before  the  benediction,  when  the  minister  gave  out,  aa 
requested,  that  "  the  Village  Dorcas  Society  would  meet  on 
Wednesday  of  the  coming  week,  at  Mrs.  Parley  Gimp's." 
•  She  was  made  aware  that  it  had  fallen  upon  her  ears, 
though  heard  unconsciously,  when  Serena  Gimp  caught  her 
by  the  sleeve  in  the  church  porch. 

"  Aint  it  awful,"  said  she,  with  a  simper  and  a  flutter  of 
importance,  "  to  have  your  name  called  right  out  so  in  the 
pulpit  ?  I  declare,  if  it  had  n't  been  for  seeing  the  new 
minister,  I  would  n't  have  come  to  meeting,  I  dreaded  it  so ! 
Aint  he  handsome  ?  He  's  old,  though  —  thirty-five !  He  'a 
broken-hearted,  too !  Somebody  died,  or  something  else, 
that  he  was  going  to  be  married  to,  ever  so  many  years 
ago ;  and  they  say  he  has  n't  hardly  spoken  to  a  lady  since. 
That 's  so  romantic !  I  don't  wonder  he  preaches  such  low- 
spirited  kind  of  sermons.  Only  I  wish  they  war  n't  quite 
so.  I  suppose  it 's  beautiful,  and  heavenly-minded,  and  all 
that ;  but  yet  I  'd  rather  hear  something  a  little  kind  of 
cheerful.  Don't  you  think  so  ?  But  the  poetry  was  elegant 
—  war  n't  it  ?  I  guess  it 's  original,  too.  They  say  he  puts 
things  in  the  '  Mishaumok  Monthly.'  —  Come  Wednesday, 
won't  you?  We  shall  depend,  you  know." 

To  Miss  Gimp,  the  one  salient  point,  amid  the  solemni 
ties  of  the  day,  had  been  that  pulpit  notice.  She  had  put 
new  strings  to  her  bonnet  for  the  occasion.  Mrs.  Gimp, 
being  more  immediately  and  personally  affected,  had  mod- 
tstly  remained  away  from  church. 

Faith  got  away,  she  hardly  knew  how.  Her  mind  mis 
gave  her  afterward  that  it  had  been  by  a  precipitate  and 
positive  promise  to  attend  the  meeting  of  the  Village  Dorcas 
Society. 

13* 


150       FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

Glory  McWhirk  went  straight  through  the  village,  home  ; 
and  out  to  her  little  room  in  the  sunny  side  of  the  low, 
sloping  roof.  This  was  her  winter  nook.  She  had  a  sha 
dier  one,  looking  the  other  way,  for  summer. 

Does  it  seem  unlikely  that  this  untaught  girl  should  have 
taken  in  the  meaning  of  the  words  that  had  burned  upon 
her  ear  to-day  ?  The  speaker's  diction  may  have  been  be 
yond  her,  here  and  there ;  it  might  be  impossible  for  her 
now  to  gather  up  in  her  memory  any  portion  of  the  precise 
form  in  which  the  glorious  truth  had  come  to  her ;  that 
mattered  not.  It  needs  not  a  critical  interpretation  of  lan 
guage  to  apprehend  a  thought  whose  rudiment  has  been 
lying  in  the  soul  before.  The  little  seed  underneath  the 
earth  can  no  further  analyze  the  sunbeam  than  to  snatch 
from  it  the  mysterious  vivification  it  was  waiting  for.  Thia 
it  does,  surely. 

"I  wonder  if  it's  all  true!  "  she  cried,  silently,  in  her 
soul,  while  she  stood  for  a  minute  with  bonnet  and  shawl 
still  on,  and  grasping  still  in  her  fingers  what  she  had  held 
there  all  the  morning  —  her  Testament  and  Sunday-school 
question-book,  and  folded  pocket-handkerchief, — looking 
out  from  her  little  window,  dreamily,  over  the  dazzle  of  the 
snow,  even  as  her  half-blinded  thought  peered  out  from  its 
own  narrowness  into  the  infinite  splendor  of  the  promise  of 
God,  —  "I  wonder  if  God  will  ever  make  me  beautiful !  I 
wonder  if  I  shall  ever  have  a  real,  great  joy  fulness,  that 
is  n't  a  make-believe !  " 

Glory  called  her  fancies  so.  They  followed  her  stilL 
She  lived  yet  in  an  ideal  world.  The  real  world, — that  is, 
the  best  good  of  it,  —  had  not  come  close  enough  to  her, 
even  in  this,  her  widely  amended  condition,  to  displace  the 
olher.  Remember,  —  this  child  of  eighteen  had  missed  her 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.       151 

childhood ;  had  known  neither  father  nor  mother,  sister  nor 
brother. 

Don't  think  her  simple,  in  the  pitiful  meaning  of  the 
word  ;  but  she  still  enacted,  in  the  midst  of  her  plain,  daily 
life,  wonderful  dreams  that  nobody  could  have  ever  sus 
pected  ;  and  here,  in  her  solitary  chamber,  called  up  at  will 
creatures  of  imagination  who  were  to  her  what  human  crea 
tures,  alas !  had  never  been.  Above  all,  she  had  a  sister 
here,  to  whom  she  told  all  her  secrete.  This  sister's  name 
was  Leonora. 


CHAPTER  XVIL 

FROST-WONDERS. 

"  No  hammers  fell,  no  ponderous  axes  rung ; 
Like  some  tall  palm,  the  mystic  fabric  sprung. 
Majestic  silence ! "  HEBER. 

THE  thaw  continued  till  the  snow  was  nearly  gone.  Ont} 
the  great  drifts  against  the  fences,  and  the  white  folds  in 
the  rifts  of  distant  hill-sides  lingered  to  tell  what  had  been. 
Then  came  a  day  of  warm  rain,  that  washed  away  the  last 
fragment  of  earth's  cast-off  vesture,  and  bathed  her  pure 
for  the  new  adornment  that  was  to  be  laid  upon  her.  At 
night,  the  weather  cooled,  and  the  rain  changed  to  a  fine, 
slow  mist,  congealing  as  it  fell. 

Faith  stood  next  morning  by  a  small  round  table  in  the 
sitting-room  window,  and  leaned  lovingly  over  her  jonquils 
and  hyacinths  that  were  coming  into  bloom.  A  tall  stem 
that  had  been  opening  day  by  day,  successively,  bright  bita 
of  golden  blossom,  stood  erect  in  a  small  stateliness,  with 
its  last  wee  flower  unfolded,  and  seemed  to  have  taken  a 
new  attitude  and  expression,  since  yesterday,  of  satisfied 
and  proud  accomplishment.  It  was  so  pert,  so  dainty,  so 
prim,  that  Faith  laughed  in  the  six  saucy  little  faces  that 
looked  out  at  her  from  its  slender  culm.  Then  she  drew 
the  curtain-cord  to  let  in  the  first  sunbeam  that  should  slant 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.       153 

from  the  south  upon  her  bulbs.  She  had  somehow  hurried 
from  her  room,  forgetting  to  throw  up  her  window  at  the 
moment  of  her  leaving,  as  it  was  her  habit  to  do.  She 
knew  the  sunbeams  were  coming,  though,  for  they  were 
bright  from  the  east  upon  the  linen  shades.  So  her  first 
fair  glimpse  of  the  day  was  at  raising  the  white  curtain 
slowly  over  its  roller,  like  the  uplifting  of  a  drapery  from 
before  a  scene. 

She  gave  a  little  cry  of  rapturous  astonishment.  It  waa 
a  diamond  morning  1 

Away  off,  up  the  lane,  and  over  the  meadows,  every  tret> 
and  bush  was  hung  with  twinkling  gems  that  the  slight 
wind  swayed  against  each  other  with  tiny  crashes  of  faint 
music,  and  the  sun  was  just  touching  with  a  level  splendor. 

Every  spire  and  thorn  stood  stiff  with  crystal  armor ;  the 
stones  and  fences  and  tree-boles  were  veneered  with  glass. 
The  tiniest  twig  was  visible  in  separate  light.  The  gorgeous 
tracery  of  the  boughs  seemed  to  open  interminable  vistas 
of  resplendent  intricacy.  The  field  whose  green  summer 
plenitude  gave  but  one  soft  sensation  to  the  eye,  was  a  wil 
derness  now,  where  every  glistening  grass-blade  insisted  on 
its  individuality.  The  earth  widened  out  —  was  magnified. 
The  unmeasured  blue  above  seemed  to  dwindle  in  the  pres 
ence  of  all  the  myriad  growths  it  overarched. 

After  that  first,  quick  cry,  Faith  stood  mute  with  ecstasy. 

"  Mother!  "  said  she,  breathlessly,  at  last,  as  Mrs.  Gart- 
uey  entered,  "  look  there !  have  you  seen  it?  Just  imagine 
what  the  woods  must  be  this  morning !  How  can  we  think 
of  buckwheats'?" 

Sounds  and  odors  betrayed  that  Mis'  Battis  and  breakfast 
Vere  in  the  little  rocm  adjoining. 

"  There  is  a  thought  of  something  akin  to  them,  is  n't 


154      FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

there,  under  all  this  splendor  ?  Men  must  live,  and  grasa 
and  grain  must  grow." 

Mr.  Gartney  said  this,  as  he  came  up  behind  wife  and 
daughter,  and  laid  a  hand  on  a  shoulder  of  each. 

"  I  know  one  thing,  though,"  said  Faith.  "  I  '11  eat  the 
buckwheats,  as  a  vulgar  necessity,  and  then  I  '11  go  over  tho 
brook  and  up  in  the  woods  behind  the  Pasture  Rocks.  It  'U 
last,  wont  it?" 

"  Not  many  hours,  with  this  spring  balm  in  the  air," 
replied  her  father.  "  You  must  make  haste.  By  noon,  it 
will  be  all  a  drizzle." 

"  Will  it  be  quite  safe  for  her  to  go  alone?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Gartney. 

"  I  '11  ask  Aunt  Faith  to  let  me  have  Glory.  She  showed 
me  the  walk  last  summer.  It  is  fair  she  should  see  this, 
now." 

So  the  morning  odds  and  ends  were  done  up  quickly  at 
Cross  Corners  and  at  the  Old  House,  and  then  Faith  and 
Glory  set  forth  together,  —  the  latter  in  as  sublime  a  rap 
ture  as  could  consist  with  mortal  cohesion. 

The  common  road-side  was  an  enchanted  path.  The  glit 
tering  rime  transfigured  the  very  cart-ruts  into  bars  of  silver; 
and  every  coarse  weed  was  a  fretwork  of  beauty. 

"  Bells  on  their  toes  "  they  had,  this  morning,  assuredly ; 
each  footfall  made  a  music  on  the  sod. 

And  the  fringes  up  and  down  the  brook-side !  In  and 
out  the  arches  of  his  rare  "ice-palace,"  leaped  the  frost- 
defying  current,  dashing  new  jewels  right  and  left,  like  a 
king  scattering  largess  as  he  rides  along  ! 

Over  the  slippery  bridge,  —  out  across  a  stretch  of  open 
meadow,  and  then  along  a  track  that  skirted  the  border  of 
a  sparse  growth  of  trees,  projecting  itself  like  a  promontory 


FAITH   GAETNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.       155 

upon  the  level  land,  —  round  its  abrupt  angle  into  a  sweep 
of  meadow  again,  on  whose  farther  verge  rose  the  Pasture 
Rocks.  This  was  their  way. 

Behind  these  rocks  swelled  up  gently  a  slope,  half  pasture, 
half  woodland, — neither  open  ground  nor  forest;  but,  al 
though  clear  enough  for  comfortable  walking,  studded  pretty 
closely  with  trees  that  often  interlaced  their  branches  over 
head,  and  made  great,  pillared  aisles,  among  whose  shade, 
in  summer,  wound  delicious  little  foot-paths  that  all  came 
out  together,  midway  up,  into  —  what  you  shall  be  told  of 
presently. 

Around  the  borders  of  the  meadows  they  had  crossed, 
grew  luxuriant  elms,  that  made,  with  their  low,  sweeping 
boughs,  festoons,  and  bowers,  and  far-off  mounds  of  light. 

Here,  among  and  beyond  the  rocks,  were  oaks,  and  pines, 
and  savins,  —  each  needle-like  leaf  a  shimmering  lance,  — 
each  clustering  branch  a  spray  of  gems,  —  and  the  stout, 
spreading  limbs  of  the  oaks  delineating  themselves  against 
the  sky  above  in  Gothic  frost-work. 

Great  icicles  hung  from  points  of  craggy  stone,  and 
dropped,  crashing  in  the  stillness,  from  tips  of  branches 
that  overhung  them  as  they  went  This,  with  now  and 
then  a  chick-a-dee's  note,  was  all  the  winter  music  of  the 
woods.  But  the  grandeur  of  that  silence!  The  awe  of 
standing  there,  with  the  flashing  groins  of  those  wild  and 
mighty  arches  overhead,  and  the  low  wind  whispering 
through,  like  an  awaking  organ,  and  the  sunlight  coming 
down  out  of  the  blue  above,  and  penetrating  in  broad 
gleams,  like  a  living  Presence  ! 

One  chant  reiterated  itself  in  Faith's  soul,  as  she  gazed 
and  listened.  "  The  Lord  is  in  His  Holy  Temple ;  let  all 
the  earth  keep  silence  before  Him! " 


156       FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

As  for  Glory,  she  walked  on,  in  a  hushed  joy,  as  if  aa 
angel  led  her. 

Suddenly,  — before  they  thought  it  could  be  so  near,  — 
they  came  up  and  out  into  a  broader  opening.  Between  two 
rocks  that  made,  as  it  were,  a  gate-way,  and  around  whose 
bases  were  grouped  sentinel  evergreens,  they  came  into  this 
wider  space,  floored  with  flat  rock,  the  surface  of  a  hidden 
ledge,  carpeted  with  crisp  mosses  in  the  summer,  whose 
every  cup  and  hollow  held  a  jewel  now,  —  and  enclosed 
with  lofty  oaks  and  pines,  while,  straight  beyond,  where 
the  woods  shut  in  again  far  closer  than  below,  rose  a  bold 
crag,  over  whose  brow  hung  pendent  birches  that  in  their 
icy  robing  drooped  like  glittering  wings  of  cherubim  above 
an  altar. 

All  around  and  underneath,  this  strange  magnificence. 
Overhead,  the  everlasting  Blue,  that  roofed  it  in  with  sap 
phire.  In  front,  the  rough,  gigantic  shrine. 

"  It  is  like  a  cathedral !  "  said  Faith,  solemnly  and  low. 

"  See ! "  whispered  Glory,  catching  her  companion  hastily 
by  the  arm,  —  "  there  is  the  minister !  " 

A  little  way  .beyond  them,  at  the  right,  out  from  among 
the  clumps  of  evergreen  where  some  other  of  the  little  wood- 
walks  opened,  a  figure  advanced  without  perceiving  them 
It  was  Roger  Armstrong,  the  new  minister.  He  held  hia 
hat  in  his  hand.  He  walked,  uncovered,  as  he  would  have 
done  into  a  church,  into  this  forest  temple,  where  God'a 
finger  had  just  been  writing  on  the  walls. 

When  he  turned,  slowly,  his  eye  fell  on  the  other  two 
who  stood  there.  It  lighted  up  with  a  quick  joy  of  sympa 
thy.  He  came  forward.  Faith  bowed.  Glory  stood  back, 
shyly.  Neither  party  seemed  astonished  at  the  meeting.  It 
was  so  plain  why  they  came,  that  if  they  had  wondered  ai 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.       157 

all,  it  would  have  been  that  the  whole  village  should  not  be 
pouring  out  hither,  also. 

Mr.  Armstrong  led  them  to  the  centre  of  the  rocky  space. 
"  This  is  the  best  point,"  said  he.  And  then  was  silent 
There  was  no  need  of  words.  A  greatness  of  thought  made 
itself  felt  from  one  to  the  other,  without  expression. 

Only,  between  still  pauses,  words  came  that  almost  spoke 
themselves. 

"  '  Eye  hath  not  seen,  nor  hath  it  entered  into  the  heart 
of  man  to  conceive,  that  which  God  hath  prepared  for  them 
that  love  him.'  What  a  commentary  upon  His  promise  is  a 
glory  like  this !  " 

"  '  And  they  shall  all  shine  like  the  sun  in  the  kingdom 
of  my  Father!'" 

Faith  stood  by  the  minister's  side,  and  glanced,  when  he 
spoke,  from  the  wonderful  beauty  before  her  to  a  face  whose 
look  interpreted  it  all.  There  was  something  in  the  very 
presence  of  this  man  that  drew  others  who  approached  him 
into  the  felt  presence  of  God.  Because  he  stood  therein  in 
the  spirit.  These  are  the  true  apostles  whom  Christ  senda 
forth. 

Glory  could  have  sobbed  with  an  oppression  of  reverence, 
enthusiasm,  and  joy. 

"It  is  only  a  glimpse,"  said  Mr.  Armstrong,  by-and-by. 
"It  is  going,  already." 

A  drip  —  drip  —  was  beginning  to  be  heard  in  the  woods. 

"  You  ought  to  get  away  from  under  the  trees  before  the 
thaw  comes  fully  on,"  continued  he.  "A  branch  breaks, 
now  and  then,  and  the  ice  will  be  falling  constantly,  when 
it  onoe  begins  to  loosen.  I  can  show  you  a  more  open  way 
than  the  one  you  came  by,  I  think." 

And  he  gave  his  arm  to  Faith  over  the  slope  that  ^^n 
H 


158      FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

now  was  growing  wet  and  slippery  in  the  sun.  Faith  touched 
it  with  a  reverence,  and  dropped  it  again,  modestly,  wheii 
they  reached  a  safer  foothold. 

Uiory  kept  behind.  Mr.  Armstrong  turned  now  and  then, 
with  a  kindly  word,  and  a  thought  for  her  safety.  Once  he 
took  her  hand,  and  helped  her  down,  a  sudden  descent  in 
the  path,  where  the  water  had  run  over  and  made  a  smooth, 
dangerous  glare. 

"  I  shall  call  soon  to  see  your  father  and  mother,  Miss 
Gartney,"  said  he,  when  they  reached  the  road  again  beyond 
the  brook,  and  their  ways  home  lay  in  different  directions. 
"  This  meeting,  to-day,  has  given  me  pleasure." 

"  How  ?  "  Faith  wondered  silently,  as  she  kept  on  to  the 
Cross  Corners.  She  had  hardly  spoken  a  word.  But,  then, 
she  might  have  remembered  that  the  minister's  own  worda 
had  been  few,  yet  her  very  speechlessness  before  him  had 
come  from  the  deep  pleasure  that  his  presence  had  given 
to  her.  The  recognition  of  souls  cares  little  for  words. 
Faith's  soul  had  been  in  her  face  to-day,  as  Roger  Arm 
strong  had  seen  it  each  Sunday,  also,  in  the  sweet,  listen 
ing  look  she  uplifted  before  him  in  the  church.  He  bent 
towards  this  young,  pure  life,  with  a  joy  in  its  gentle 
purity;  the  joy  of  an  elder  over  a  younger  angel  in  the 
school  of  God. 

And  Glory  ?  she  laid  up  in  her  own  heart  a  beautiful 
remembrance  of  something  she  had  never  known  before. 
Of  a  near  approach  to  something  great  and  high,  yet  gentle 
and  beneficent.  Of  a  kindly,  helping  touch,  a  gracious 
smile,  a  glance  that  spoke  straight  to  the  mute  aspiration 
within  her. 

The  minister  had  not  failed,  through  all  her  humbleness 
and  shyness,  to  read  some  syllables  of  that  large,  unuttered 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.       159 

life  of  hers  that  lay  beneath.  He  whose  labor  it  is  to  save 
souls,  learns  always  the  insight  that  discerns  souls. 

"  I  have  seen  the  Winter ! "  cried  Faith,  glowing  and 
joyous,  as  she  came  in  from  her  walk. 

"  It  has  been  a  beautiful  time ! "  said  Glory  to  her 
shadow-sister,  when  she  went  to  hang  away  hood  and 
shawl.  "It  has  been  a  beautiful  time, — and  T  'TO  been 
really  in  it,  —  partly  J  " 


CHAPTER  XVIli. 

OUT   IN   THE   SNOW. 

"  Sydneian  showers 
Of  sweet  discourse,  whose  powers 
C«n  crown  old  winter's  bead  with  flowers." 

CRASHAW. 

WINTER  had  not  exhausted  her  repertory,  however.  She 
had  more  wonders  to  unfold. 

There  came  a  long  snow-storm. 

Steadily,  patiently,  persistently,  the  tiny  flakes  came 
down  out  of  a  great,  gray,  inexhaustible  gloom  above,  and 
fell,  each  to  its  appointed  place,  rounding  up  and  out, 
everywhere,  the  marvellous  sculpture  that  is  builded,  not 
chiselled,  and  transforming  common  things  into  shapes  of 
dreamy  grace  and  splendor.  Stilly  and  surely,  —  all  day, 
all  night,  almost  all  day  again,  —  the  work  of  atoms  went 
on  mightily ;  till  the  clouds,  like  artists  falling  back  before 
their  finished  work,  parted,  and  let  in  the  sun  to  look  on 
what  they  had  achieved.  Then  fell  an  afternoon  effulgence 
over  all.  Peaks  and  mounds  and  drifts  glanced  in  a  rosy 
light.  The  great  trees  held  their  branches  in  a  breathless 
quietness,  lest  their  perfect  draperies  should  be  disturbed. 
There  was  a  strange  hush  in  nature.  The  world  was  muffled. 
All  the  indefinite  stir  that  tells  us  in  the  stillest  of  other 
scenes,  that  a  deep,  palpitating  life  goes  on  under  whatever 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.       \£\ 

look  of  rest  the  earth  assumes,  was  covered  and  soundless 
now.  It  was  a  pause  of  pure  completeness. 

"  Faithie,"  said  her  father,  coming  in,  wrapped  up  in  furs, 
from  a  visit  to  the  stable,  "  put  your  comfortables  on,  and 
we  '11  go  and  see  the  snow.  We  '11  make  tracks,  literally,  for 
the  hills.  There  is  n't  a  road  fairly  broken  between  here 
and  Grcver's  Peak.  The  snow  lies  beautifully,  though  ;  and 
there  isn't  a  breath  of  wind.  It  will  be  a  sight  to  see." 

Faith  brought,  quickly,  sontag,  jacket,  and  cloak,  — hood 
and  veil,  and  long,  warm  snow-boots,  and  in  ten  minutes 
was  ready,  as  she  averred,  for  a  sledge  ride  to  Hudson's  Bay. 

Luther  drove  the  sleigh  close  to  the  kitchen  door,  that 
Faith  might  not  have  to  cross  the  yard  to  reach  it,  and  she 
stepped  directly  from  the  threshold  into  the  warm  nest  of 
buffalo-robes ;  while  Mis'  Battis  put  a  great  stone  jug  of 
hot  water  in  beside  her  feet,  asserting  that  it  was  "  a  real 
comfortin'  thing  on  a  sleigh-ride,  and  that  they  need  n't  be 
afraid  of  its  leakin',  for  the  cork  was  druv  in  as  tight  as  an 
eye-tooth ! " 

So,  out  by  the  barn,  into  the  road,  and  away  from  the 
village  toward  the  hills,  they  went,  with  the  glee  of  resonant 
bells  and  excited  expectation. 

A  mile,  or  somewhat  more,  along  the  Sedgely  turnpike, 
took  them  into  a  bit  of  woods  that  skirted  the  road  on  either 
side,  for  a  considerable  distance.  Away  in,  under  the  trees, 
the  stillness  and  the  whiteness  and  the  wonderful  multipli 
cation  of  snow-shapes  were  like  enchantment.  Each  bush 
had  an  attitude  and  drapery  and  expression  of  its  own,  as 
if  some  weird  life  had  suddenly  been  epell-bound  in  these 
depths.  Cherubs,  and  old  women,  and  tall  statue-shapes 
like  images  of  gods,  hovered,  and  bent,  and  stood  majestic, 
in  a  motionless  poise.  Over  all,  the  bent  boughs  made 

14* 


102       FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

marble  and  silver  arches  in  shadow  and  light,  and,  far 
down  between,  the  vistas  lengthened  endlessly,  still  crowded 
with  mystic  figures,  haunting  the  long  galleries  with  their 
awful  beauty. 

They  went  on,  penetrating  a  lifeless  silence  ;  their  horse's 
feet  making  the  first  prints  since  early  morning  in  the  un 
broken  smoothness  of  the  way,  and  the  only  sound  the 
gentle  tinkle  of  their  own  bells,  as  they  moved  pleasantly, 
but  not  fleetly,  along. 

So,  up  the  ascent,  where  the  land  lay  higher,  toward  the 
hills. 

"  I  feel,"  said  Faith,  "  as  if  I  had  been  hurried  through  the 
Louvre,  or  the  Vatican,  or  both,  and  had  n't  half  seen  any 
thing.  Was  there  ever  anything  so  strange  and  beautiful?" 

"  We  shall  find  more  Louvres  presently,"  said  her  father. 
"  We  '11  keep  the  road  round  Grover's  Peak,  and  turn  off, 
as  we  come  back,  down  Garland  Lane." 

"  That  lovely,  wild,  shady  road  we  took  last  summer  so 
often,  where  the  grape-vines  grow  so,  all  over  the  tree5*  ?  " 

"Exactly,"  replied  Mr.  Gartney.  "But  you  mustn't 
scream  if  we  thump  about  a  little,  in  the  drifts  up  there. 
It 's  pretty  rough,  at  the  best  of  times,  and  the  snow  will 
have  filled  in  the  narrow  spaces  between  the  rocks  and 
ridges,  like  a  freshet.  Shall  you  be  afraid  ?  " 

Afraid !  Oh,  no,  indeed  !  It 's  glorious !  I  think  I 
should  like  to  go  everywhere ! " 

"  There  is  a  good  deal  of  everywhere  in  every  little  dis 
tance,"  said  Mr.  Gartney.  "  People  get  into  cars,  and  go 
whizzing  across  whole  States,  often,  before  they  stop  to 
thoroughly  enjoy  something  that  is  very  like  what  they 
might  have  found  within  ten  miles  of  home.  For  my  part, 
I  like  microscopic  journeying." 


fAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.       163 

;' Leaving  'no  stone  unturned.'  So  do  I,"  said  Faith. 
"We  don't  half  know  the  journey  between  Kinnicutt 
and  Sedgely  yet,  I  think.  And  then,  too,  they  're  multi 
plied,  over  and  over,  by  all  the  different  seasons,  and  by 
different  sorts  of  weather.  Oh,  we  shan't  use  them  up,  in 
a  long  while  !  " 

Saidie  Gartney  had  not  felt,  perhaps,  in  all  her  European 
travel,  the  sense  of  inexhaustible  pleasure  that  Faith  had 
when  she  said  this. 

Down  under  Grover's  Peak,  with  the  river  on  one  side, 
and  the  white-robed  cedar  thickets  rising  on  the  other,  — 
with  the  low  afternoon  sun  glinting  across  from  the  frosted 
roofs  of  the  red  mill-buildings  and  barns  and  farm-houses 
to  the  rocky  slope  of  the  Peak,  where  pines  and  cedars  and 
hemlocks  stood,  like  sheeted  sentinels,  and  from  every 
crevice  sprang  a  sturdy  shrub  in  grotesque  disguise,  like  a 
gnome  guarding  or  indicating  treasure,  —  they  seemed  to 
go,  as  Faith  said,  "  right  into  a  fairy  tale ;  "  the  wild  forms 
and  aspects  of  nature  blending  so  wiih  the  signs  of  sim 
ple,  human  life.  She  could  fancy  a  bold  peasant,  coming 
up  from  the  little  settlement  beneath  to  his  wood-piles  on 
the  steep  hill-side,  encountering  strange  adventures  there 
among  the  crags ;  and  that  the  sprite-like  apparitions 
gleaming  out  so  in  the  twilight  of  the  place,  watched  and 
presided,  elfishly,  over  the  mortal  haps  below.  Certain 
physical  aspects  transport  us,  mysteriously,  into  certain 
mental  atmospheres.  She  got  a  flavor  of  Grimm  and  An 
dersen,  here,  under  Grover's  Peak. 

TEfcn  they  came  round  and  up  again,  over  a  southerly 
ridge,  by  beautiful  Garland  Lane,  that  she  knew  only  in 
Us  summer  look,  when  the  wild  grape  festooned  itself 
wantonly  from  branch  to  branch,  and  sometimes,  even, 


164      FAITH  GAKTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

from  side  to  side ;  and  so  gave  the  narrow  forest-road  iti 
name. 

Quite  into  fairy-land  they  had  come  now,  in  truth  ;  as  if, 
skirting  the  dark  peak  that  shut  it  off  from  ordinary  espial, 
they  had  lighted  on  a  by-path  that  led  them  covertly  in. 
Trailing  and  climbing  vines  wore  their  draperies  lightly , 
delicate  shrubs  bowed  like  veiled  shapes  in  groups  around 
the  bases  of  tall  tree-trunks,  and  slight-stemmed  birches 
quivered  under  their  canopies  of  snow.  Little  birds  hopped 
in  and  out  under  the  pure,  still  shelter,  and  left  their  tiny 
tracks,  like  magical  hieroglyphs,  in  the  else  untrodden 
paths. 

"Lean  this  way,  Faith,  and  keep  steady!"  cried  Mr. 
Gartney,  as  the  horse  plunged  breast-high  into  a  drift,  and 
the  sleigh  careened  toward  the  side  Faith  was  on.  It  waa 
a  sharp  strain,  but  they  ploughed  their  way  through,  and 
came  upon  a  level  again.  This  by-street  was  literally  un 
broken.  No  one  had  traversed  it  since  the  beginning  of  the 
storm.  The  drifts  had  had  it  all  their  own  way  there,  and 
it  involved  no  little  adventurousness  and  risk,  as  Mr.  Grizt 
ney  began  to  see,  to  pioneer  a  passage  through.  But  tne 
spirit  of  adventure  was  upon  them  both.  On  all,  I  should 
say;  for  the  strong  horse  plunged  forward,  from  drift  to 
drift,  as  though  he  delighted  in  the  encounter.  Moreover, 
to  turn  was  impossible. 

Faith  laughed,  and  gave  little  shrieks,  alternately,  aa 
they  rose  triumphantly  from  deep,  "  slumpy  "  hollows,  or 
pitched  headlong  into  others  again.  Thus,  struggling,  en 
joying,  — just  frightened"  enough,  now  and  then,  to  keep  up 
the  excitement,  —  they  came  upon  the  summit  of  the  ridge. 
Now  their  way  lay  downward.  This  began  to  look  really 
»l»uost  perilous.  With  careful  guiding,  however,  and  skilful 


FAITH  GARTNET'S  GIRLHOOD.       165 

balancing,  —  tipping,  creaking,  sinking,  emerging,  —  they 
kept  on  slowly,  about  half  the  distance  down  the  descent. 

The  sagacious  horse  grew  warier  at  every  step.  He 
t  seemed  to  understand  the  difficulty  and  the  danger.  Lift 
ing  his  fore  feet  high,  one  after  the  other,  with  tremendous 
strides,  he  would  reach  them  on,  ind  plant  them  deep  in 
•  the  uncertain  drifts,  and  then,  with  a  strain  and  a  xug, 
bring  hinder  feet  and  all  his  burden  after. 

In  th.  intervals  of  immediate  excitement  and  anxiety, 
Faith  took  in  the  wonderful,  almost  mountainous  aspect  of 
the  snow-piled  group  of  hills  they  were  among.  It  was 
wild,  dreary,  solitary.  Not  'a  house  was  to  be  seen.  There 
were,  in  fact,  none  nearer  than  the  little  settlement  at 
Grover's  Mills.  Down  below  them  wound  the  level  road 
which  they  had  to  regain. 

Suddenly,  the  horse,  as  men  and  brutes,  however  saga 
cious,  sometimes  will,  made  a  miscalculation  of  depth  or 
power,  —  lost  his  sure  balance,  —  sunk  to  his  body  in  the 
yielding  snow,  —  floundered  violently  in  an  endeavor  to 
regain  safe  footing,  —  and,  snap  !  crash !  was  down  against 
the  drift  at  the  left,  with  a  broken  shaft  under  him ! 

Mr.  Gartney  sprang  to  his  head. 

One  runner  was  up,  —  one  down.  The  sleigh  stuck  fast 
at  an  angle  of  about  thirty  degrees.  Faith  clung  to  the 
upper  side. 

Here  was  a  situation  !  What  was  to  be  done  ?  Twilight 
joming  on,  —  no  help  near,  —  no  way  of  getting  anywhere  ! 

"Faith,"  said  Mr.  Gartney,  "  what  have  you  got  on  youi 
feet?" 

"  Long,  thick  snow-boots,  father.     What  can  I  do  ?  " 

"  Do  you  dare  to  ccme  and  try  to  unfasten  these  buckles'/ 
There  is  no  danger.  Major  can't  stir  while  I  hold  him  by 
the  head." 


166      FAITH    GAUTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

Faith  jumped  out  into  the  snow,  and  valorously  set  to 
work  at  the  buckles.  She  managed  to  undo  one,  and  to 
slip  out  the  fastening  of  the  trace,  on  one  side,  where  it  held 
to  the  whiffletree.  But  the  horse  was  lying  so  that  she 
could  not  get  at  the  other. 

"  I  '11  come  there,  father !  "  she  cried,  clambering  and 
struggling  through  the  drift  till  she  came  to  the  horse's 
head.  "  Can't  I  hold  him  while  you  undo  the  har 
ness  ?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  you  can,  Faithie.  He  is  n't  down  so  flat 
as  to  be  quite  under  easy  control/' 

"  Not  if  I  sit  on  his  head  ? "  asked  Faith,  seeing  that 
her  father  simply  pressed  with  both  hands  downward 
upon  it. 

"  That  might  do,"  replied  her  father,  laughing.  "Only 
you  would  get  frightened,  maybe,  and  jump  up  too  soon." 

"  No,  I  won't,"  said  Faith,  quite  determined  upon  hero 
ism.  While  she  spoke,  she  had  picked  up  the  whip,  which 
had  fallen  close  by,  doubled  back  the  lash  against  the  handle, 
and  was  tying  her  blue  veil  to  its  tip.  Then  she  sat  down 
on  the  animal's  great  cheek,  which  she  had  never  fancied  to 
be  half  so  broad  before,  and  gently  patted  his  nose  with  one 
hand,  while  she  upheld  her  blue  flag  with  the  other.  Major's 
big,  panting  breaths  came  up,  close  beside  her  face.  She 
kept  a  quick,  watchful  eye  upon  the  road  below. 

"He 's  as  quiet  as  can  be,  father!  It  must  be  what  Misa 
Reeoher  called  the  '  chivalry  of  horses ! ' ' 

"It's  the  chivalry  that  has  to  develop  under  petticoat 
government!"  retorted  Mr.  Gartney,  glancing  at  the  meek 
nose  that  projected  itself  beyond  the  sweep  of  crinoline,  a8 
he  came  nearer  to  unbuckle  the  saddle-girth 

At  this  moment  Faith's  blue  fla<r  waved  vehemently  over 


FAITH   GARTNEF'S    GIRLHOOD.       167 

her  head.  She  had  caught  the  jingle  of  bells,  and  perceived 
a  sleigh,  with  a  man  in  it,  come  out  into  the  crossing  at  the 
foot  of  Garland  Lane.  The  man  descried  the  signal  and 
the  disaster,  and  the  sleigh  stopped.  Alighting,  he  led  hia 
horse  to  the  fence,  fastened  him  there,  and  turning  aside 
into  the  steep,  narrow,  unbroken  road,  began  a  vigorous 
struggle  through  the  drifts  to  reach  the  wreck. 

Coming  nearer,  he  discerned  and  recognized  Mr.  Gartney, 
who  also,  at  the  same  moment,  was  aware  of  him.  It  waa 
Mr.  Armstrong. 

"Keep  still  a  minute  longer,  Faith,"  said  her  father,  lift 
ing  the  remaining  shaft  against  the  dasher,  and  trying  to 
push  the  sleigh  back,  away  from  the  animal.  But  this, 
alone,  he  was  unable  to  accomplish.  He  was  forced  to 
await  the  arrival  of  his  timely  helper.  So  the  minister 
came  up,  and  found  Faith  still  seated  on  the  horse's  bead. 

"  Miss  Gartney!     Let  me  hold  him! "  cried  he,  advanc 
ing  to  relieve  her. 

"I'm  quite  comfortable!"  laughed  Faith.  "If  you 
would  just  help  my  father,  please !  I  could  n't  do  that 
BO  well." 

The  sleigh  was  drawn  back  by  the  combined  effort  of  the 
two  gentlemen,  and  then  both  came  quickly  round  to  Faith. 

"  Now,  Faith,  jump!  "  said  her  father,  placing  his  hands 
upon  the  creature's  temple,  close  beside  her,  while  Mr.  Arm 
strong  caught  her  arms  to  snatch  her  safely  away.  Faith 
sprang,  or  was  lifted  as  she  sprang,  quite  to  the  top  of  the 
huge  bank  of  snow  under  and  against  which  they  had,  among 
them,  beaten  in  and  trodden  down  such  a  hollow,  and  the 
uistant  after,  Mr.  Gartney  releasing  Major's  head,  and  ut 
tering  a  sound  of  encouragement,  the  horse  raised  himsel  f, 
with  a  half  roll,  and  a  mighty  scramble,  first  to  his  kneea 


168      FAITH   GARTNEY 'S   GIRLHOOD. 

and  then  to  his  four  feet  again,  and  shook  his  great  ekiu, 
and  all  his  loosened  trappings,  with  an  enormous  shudder, 
to  scatter  the  snow.  Then  he  looked  round,  with  an  ex- 
pression  of  undeserved  discomfiture.  He  was  like  a  gen 
eral  who  has  planned  well,  and  fought  well,  but,  by  a  sheei 
misfortune,  has  lost  his  battle,  and  stands  for  the  world  tc 
look  upon  him  as  it  may. 

Mr.  Gartney  examined  the  harness.  The  broken  shaft 
proved  the  extent  of  damage  done.  This,  at  the  moment, 
however,  was  irremediable.  He  knotted  the  hanging  straps 
and  laid  them  over  the  horse's  neck.  Then  he  folded  a 
buffalo-skin,  and  arranged  it,  as  well  as  he  could,  above 
and  behind  the  saddle,  which  he  secured  again  by  its  girth. 

"  Mr.  Armstrong,"  said  he,  as  he  completed  this  disposal 
of  matters,  "  you  came  along  in  good  time.  I  am  very 
much  obliged  to  you.  If  you  will  do  me  the  further  favor 
to  take  my  daughter  home,  I  will  ride  to  the  nearest  house 
where  I  can  obtain  a  sleigh,  and  some  one  to  send  back  for 
these  traps  of  mine." 

"Miss  Gartney,"  said  the  minister,  in  answer,  "can  you 
sit  a  horse's  back  as  well  as  you  did  his  eyebrow?" 

Faith  laughed,  and  reaching  her  arms  to  the  hands  up 
held  for  them,  was  borne  safely  from  her  snowy  pinnacle  to 
the  buffalo  cushion.  Her  father  took  the  horse  by  the  bit, 
and  Mr.  Armstrong  kept  at  his  side  holding  Faith  firmly 
to  her  seat.  In  this  fashion,  grasping  the  bridle  with  one 
hand,  and  resting  the  other  on  Mr.  Armstrong's  shoulder, 
she  was  transported  somewhat  roughly,  but  not  uncomfw'-t- 
ably,  to  the  sleigh  at  the  foot  of  the  hill. 

"We  were  talking  about  long  journeys  in  small  circuits," 
Baid  Faith,  when  she  was  well  tucked  in,  and  they  had  set 
off"  easily  and  with  tolerable  rapidity  on  a  level  and  nol 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.       169 

utterly  untracked  road.  "  I  think  I  have  been  to  the  Al- 
hatnbra,  and  to  Rome,  and  have  had  a  peep  into  fairy-land, 
and  come  back,  at  last,  over  the  Alps!" 

Mr.  Armstrong  understood  her.  It  is  such  a  comfort  to 
know  one's  hearer  will ! 

"  It  has  been  beautiful,"  said  he.  After  a  little  pause, — 
"  I  shall  begin  to  expect  always  to  encounter  you  whenever 
I  get  among  things  wild  and  wonderful !  " 

"And  yet  I  have  lived  all  my  life,  till  now,  in  tame 
Streets,"  said  Faith.  "  I  thought  I  was  getting  into  tamer 
places  still,  when  we  first  came  to  the  country.  But  I  am 
finding  out  Kinnicutt.  One  can't  see  the  whole  of  anything 
at  once." 

"  We  are  small  creatures,  and  can  only  pick  up  atoms  aa 
we  go,  whether  of  things  outward  or  inward.  People  talk 
about  taking  '  comprehensive  views ; '  and  they  suppose  they 
do  it.  There  is  only  One  who  does." 

Faith  was  silent. 

"  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you,"  said  Mr.  Armstrong,  "how 
little  your  thought  can  really  grasp  at  once,  even  of  what 
you  already  know?  How  narrow  your  mental  horizon  is?" 

Faith  looked  up  with  a  timid  flash  of  questioning  intelli 
gence.  Her  silence  asked  him  to  say  more. 

"  Literally,  I  mean,"  continued  the  minister.  "  How 
little  we  clearly  conceive  of  what  we  think  we  have  learned 
longest  and  best?  For  instance,  Arithmetic.  We  have 
what  we  call  a  science  of  numbers,  and  we  talk  about  num 
bers,  and  manage  them  on  paper ;  but  how  many  separate 
things  that  numbers  stand  for,  can  you  think  of  at  once  1 
Suppose  they  were  only  apples,  lying  on  a  table  ?  " 

Faith  laughed,  and  then  considered. 

"Twenty  —  five,  perhaps,"  said  she. 
15 


170      FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

"Ah,  you  multiply!"  said  Mr.  Armstrong.  "You  are 
thinking  of  five  times  five !  " 

"Yes,  I  was,"  she  answered,  with  an  amused  thoughtful- 
ness.  "  J  must  come  down  to  five,"  said  she,  frankly,  after 
a  pause.  "  Six  are  twice  three." 

"  You  come  down  to  your  five  fingers,  to  speak  with  the 
common  latitude,"  said  Mr.  Armstrong.  "  That  seems  to 
be  the  foundation  and  the  limit.  Yet,  there  is  One  who 
knoweth  '  all  the  cedars  of  Lebanon,'  and  the  '  cattle  upon 
a  thousand  hills.'  Who  notes  every  sparrow  as  it  falls,  and 
'numbers  the  very  hairs  of  our  heads.'  " 

"We  do  think  of  large  numbers,  in  the  abstract,  though," 
said  Faith,  after  a  minute's  hushed  reception  of  that  last 
thought. 

"Yes,  but  how?"  replied  the  minister,  "  I'll  tell  yon 
how  I  do  it.  I  wonder  if  your  way  is  at  all  like  mine. 
Do  you  fancy  the  figures,  from  one  to  one  hundred,  ranged 
in  three  sides  of  a  parallelogram,  with  the  tens  a  little 
taller  than  the  rest,  and  the  corners  turned  somewhere 
about  twenty  and  eighty?" 

Faith's  face  brightened  all  over  with  a  surprised  recog 
nition  of  something  in  another  that  she  had  imagined  all 
her  own. 

"  That  is  so  strange  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  But  why  do 
you  turn  those  sharp  corners  ?  My  numbers  stand  round 
in  a  smooth  semicircle." 

Mr.  Armstrong  laughed.  "The  difference  of  minds," 
said  he.  "  Yours  seems  to  be  spherical,  —  mine  angular." 

"  Then  there  are  the  days,  and  the  months,"  said  Faith. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Armstrong.  "  Eeally,  the  days  and 
months  are  nowhere,  except  as  the  globe  measures  them  out 
in  space,  and  the  sunlight  scores  them  between  the  poles 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.       171 

hut  I  see  them  stretching  out,  before  and  after,  in  little  Vb- 
long  mosaics,  set  in  lines,  for  weeks  and  years." 

"  And  the  Sundays  a  little  longer  and  wider  and  whiter 
than  the  rest,"  put  in  Faith.  "  And  the  nights  are  the 
broad,  black  spaces  between." 

"I  think  my  nights  are  steps  down,  from  one  day  to 
another,  and  of  no  perceptible  length  or  color.  At  least, 
that  is  what  they  used  to  be  when  I  was  a  child,  and  I  have 
never  got  rid  of  the  old  image." 

"  Then,"  resumed  the  minister,  "what  sort  of  Geography 
do  we  really  learn  ?  How  much  of  a  notion  do  we  get  of 
Europe  and  Asia,  Africa  and  America  ?  For  me,  I  've  got  a 
littlo  spectrum  of  an  Atlas  in  my  head,  and  that  is  all.  My 
idea  of  the  whole  globe  would  n't  cover  the  space  we  have 
to  traverse  between  here  and  Cross  Corners.  Just  look  out 
there  to  the  west,"  continued  he,  pointing  toward  the  sunset, 
"  and  remember  that  you  only  see  three  or  four  miles,  and 
then  think  of  all  the  rest  that  lies  between  this  and  the 
Hudson,  and  of  New  York,  and  Ohio,  and  Indiana,  and 
Illinois !  We  can  no  more  picture  the  outstretch  of  the 
continent,  —  away  out  beyond  the  Green  Kidge,  and  the 
Catskills,  and  the  Great  Lakes,  and  the  Mississippi,  and 
the  Rocky  Mountains,  to  the  forests  of  Oregon  and  the 
beaches  of  the  Pacific,  —  than  we  can  take  eternity  into  our 
thought ! " 

"  Don't  it  seem  strange,"  said  Faith,  in  a  subdued  tone, 
»  that  it  should  all  have  been  made  for  such  little  lives  to 
be  lived  in,  each  in  its  corner  ?  " 

"If  it  did  not  thereby  prove  these  little  lives  to  be  but 
the  beginning.  This  great  Beyond  that  we  get  glimpses  of, 
even  upon  earth,  makes  it  so  sure  to  us  that  there  must  be 
an  Everlasting  Life,  to  match  the  Infinite  Creation  God 


172       FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

puts  us,  as  He  did  Moses,  into  a  cleft  of  the  rock,  that  we 
may  catch  a  glimmer  of  His  glory  as  He  goes  by ;  and  then 
He  tells  us  that  one  day  we  "  shall  know  even  as  also  we 
are  known ! " 

"  And  I  suppose  it  ought  to  make  us  satisfied  to  live 
whatever  little  life  is  given  us  ?  "  said  Faith,  gently  and 
wistfully. 

Mr.  Armstrong  turned  toward  her,  and  looked  earnestly 
into  her  eyes. 

"  Has  that  thought  troubled  you,  too?  Never  let  it  do  so 
again,  my  child !  Believe  that  however  little  of  tangible 
present  good  you  may  have,  you  have  the  unseen  good  of 
heaven,  and  the  promise  of  all  things  to  come." 

"  But  we  do  see  lives  about  us  in  the  world  that  seem  to 
be  and  to  accomplish  so  much  !  " 

"  And  so  we  ask  why  ours  should  not  be  like  them  ?  Yes; 
all  souls  that  aspire,  must  question  that ;  but  the  answer 
comes!  I  will  give  you,  some  day,  if  you  like,  the  thought 
that  comforted  me  at  a  time  when  that  question  was  a 
struggle." 

"  I  should  like !  "  said  Faith,  with  deeply  stirred  and 
grateful  emphasis. 

Then  they  drove  on  in  silence,  for  awhile  ;  and  then  the 
minister,  pleasantly  and  easily,  brought  on  a  conversation 
of  every-day  matters ;  and  so  they  came  to  Cross  Corners, 
just  as  Mrs.  Gartney  was  gazing  a  little  anxiously  out  of 
the  window,  down  the  road. 

"  Father  is  coming,"  said  Faith,  reassuringly,  the  instant 
the  door  was  opened.  "  We  broke  a  shaft  in  getting  through 
a  great  drift,  and  he  had  to  go  and  borrow  a  sleigh.  Mr. 
Armstrong  has  been  kind  enough  to  bring  me  home,  mother." 

Mrs.  Gartney  urged  the  minister  to  come  in  and  join  them 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.       173 

at  the  tea-table  ;  but  "  it  was  late  in  the  week,  —  he  had 
writing  to  finish  at  home  that  evening,  —  he  would  very 
gladlv  r-ome  nnother  time  " 

"  Mother !  "  cried  Faith,  presently,  moving  out  of  a  dream 
in  which  she  had  been  sitting  before  the  fire,  —  "I  wonder 
whether  it  has  been  two  hours,  or  two  weeks,  or  two  years, 
since  we  set  off  from  the  kitchen  door !  I  have  seen  so  much, 
and  I  have  heard  so  much.  I  told  Mr.  Armstrong,  after 
we  met  him,  that  I  had  been  through  the  Alhambra  and 
the  Vatican,  and  into  fairy-land,  and  over  the  Alps.  And 
after  that,  mother,"  she  added,  low,  "  1  think  he  almost 
took  me  into  heaven !  " 
15* 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

A  "  LEADING." 

*  The  levt  flower,  with  a  brimming  cup,  may  stand 
And  share  its  dew-drop  with  another  near." 

MRS.  BROWM rao. 

GLORY  McWniRK  was  waiting  up  stairs,  in  Faith's  pretty, 
white,  dimity-bung  chamber. 

These  two  girls,  of  such  utterly  different  birth  and  train 
ing,  were  drawing  daily  toward  each  other  across  the  gulf 
of  social  circumstance  that  separated  them.  They  were 
together  in  Mr.  Armstrong's  Bible  Class.  Sunday  after 
Sunday,  they  sat  side  by  side,  and  received  the  same  beau 
tiful  interpretation  of  truth  into  eager,  listening  souls. 
And,  as  Aunt  Henderson  said,  "  when  we  take  our  Bible- 
meat  together,  why  not  the  meat  that  perisheth  ?  " 

Faith  Gartney  came  to  know  much  of  Glory's  secret  inner 
nature  and  wants.  And  from  sitting  down  together  some 
times  on  a  Saturday  afternoon  in  the  southwest  room  at  the 
old  house,  to  look  over  the  lesson  for  the  Sunday,  there 
grew  up  a  little  plan  of  kindliness  and  benefit  between 
them. 

Twice  a  week,  now,  Glory  came  over,  and  found  her  seat 
and  her  books  ready  in  Miss  Faith's  pleasant  room,  and 
Faith  herself  waiting  to  impart  to  her,  or  to  put  her  in  the 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    C.IRLHOOD.       175 

way  of  gathering,  those  bits  of  week-day  knowledge  sho 
had  ignorantly  hungered  for  so  long. 

Glory  made  quick  progress.  A  good,  plain,  foundation 
had  been  laid  during  the  earlier  period  of  her  stay  witK 
Miss  Henderson,  by  a  regular  attendance,  half-daily,  at  the 
district  school.  Aunt  Faith  said  "nobody's  time  belonged 
to  anybody  that  knew  better  themselves,  until  they  could 
read,  and  write,  and  figure,  and  tell  which  side  of  the  globe 
they  lived  on."  Then,  too,  the  girl's  indiscriminate  glean 
ing  from  such  books  as  had  come  in  her  way,  through  all 
these  years,  assorted  itself  gradually,  now,  about  new  facts, 
like  patchwork  that  had  been  laid  by  in  bits,  confusedly, 
but  began  to  be  arranged  in  symmetry,  and  to  grow  toward 
a  whole.  Or  rather,  —  for  knowledge,  in  its  accretion,  fol 
lows  such  law,  —  that  which  had  been  held  loosely,  as  par- 
licles,  in  solution,  gathered  and  crystallized,  —  each  atom 
finding  its  sure  place,  aud  building  up  forms  of  light  and 
beauty. 

Glory's  "  good  times  "  had,  verily,  begun  at  last. 

On  this  day  that  she  sat  waiting,  Faith  had  been  called 
down  by  her  mother  to  receive  some  village  ladies  who  had 
walked  over  to  Cross  Corners  to  pay  a  visit.  Glory  had  time 
for  two  or  three  chapters  of  "  Ivanhoe,"  and  to  tell  Hendie, 
who  strayed  in,  and  begged  for  it,  Bridget  Foye's  old  story 
of  the  little  red  hen,  while  the  regular  course  of  topics  waa 
gone  through  below,  of  the  weather,  —  the  new  minister,  — 
the  last  meeting  of  the  Dorcas  Society,  —  the  everlasting 
wants  and  helplessness  of  Mrs.  Shefflcy  and  her  seven  chil 
dren,  and  whether  the  society  had  better  do  anything  more 
for  them,  —  the  trouble  in  the  west  district  school,  and  the 
question  "where  the  Dorcas  bag  was  to  go  next  time." 

A  \  ^st,  the  voices  and  footsteps  retreated,  through  the 


176       FAITH  OARTNET'S  GIRLHOOD. 

entry,  the  door  closed  somewhat  promptly  as  the  last  "good- 
afternoon  "  was  said,  and  Faith  sprang  up  the  narrow  stair 
case. 

There  were  a  lesson  in  Geography,  and  a  bit  of  Natural 
Philosophy  to  be  done  first,  and  then  followed  their  Bible 
talk ;  for  this  was  Saturday. 

Before  Glory  went  it  had  come  to  be  Faith's  practice  always 
to  read  to  her  some  bit  of  poetry,  —  a  gem  from  Tennyson 
or  Mrs.  Browning,  or  a  stray  poem  from  a  magazine  or  paper 
which  she  had  laid  by  as  worthy.  This  was  as  we  give 
children  a  cake  or  a  sugar-plum,  at  parting,  to  carry  away 
with  them. 

"Glory,"  said  she,  to-day,  "I'm  going  to  let  you  share 
a  little  treasure  of  mine,  —  something  Mr.  Armstrong  gave 
me." 

Glory's  eyes  deepened  and  glowed. 

"It  is  thoughts,"  said  Faith.  "  Thoughts  in  verse.  I 
shall  read  it  to  you,  because  I  think  it  will  just  answer  you, 
as  it  did  me.  Don't  you  feel,  sometimes,  like  a  little  brook 
in  a  deep  wood?" 

Glory's  gaze  never  moved  from  Faith's  face.  Her  poeti 
cal  instinct  seized  the  image,  and  the  thought  of  her  life 
applied  it. 

"All  alone,  and  singing  to  myself?  Yes,  I  did,  Miss 
Faith.  But  I  think  it  is  growing  lighter  and  pleasanter 
every  day.  I  think  I  am  getting  —  " 

"  Stop!  stop!"  said  Faith.  "  Don't  steal  the  verses  be 
fore  I  read  them!  You  're  such  a  queer  child,  Glory!  One 
never  can  tell  you  anything.  You  have  always  all  but  got 
it,  already." 

And  then  Faith  gave  her  pearls  ;  because  she  knew  they 
would  not  be  trampled  under  foot,  but  taken  into  a  heart 


FAITH    GAETNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.       177 

and  held  there ;  and  because  just  such  a  rapt  and  reverent 
ecstasy  as  her  own  had  been  when  the  minister  had  given 
her,  in  fulfilment  of  his  promise,  this  thought  of  his  for  the 
comfort  that  was  in  it,  looked  out  from  the  face  that  wag 
uplifted  to  hers,  radiant  with  a  joy  like  that  of  one  taken 
into  converse  with  the  angels. 

"  Up  in  the  wild,  where  no  one  comes  to  look, 
There  lives  and  sings,  a  little  lonely  brook ; 
Liveth  and  siugeth  in  the  dreary  pines, 
Yet  creepeth  on  to  where  the  daylight  shines. 

"  Pure  from  their  heaven,  in  mountain  chalice  caught, 
It  drinks  the  rains,  as  drinks  the  soul  her  thought; 
And  down  dun  hollows,  where  it  winds  along, 
Bears  its  life-burden  of  unlistened  song. 

"  I  catch  the  murmur  of  its  undertone 
That  sigheth,  ceaselessly, — alone!  alone! 
And  hear,  afar,  the  Rivers  gloriously 
Shout  on  their  paths  toward  the  shining  sea ! 

"  The  voiceful  Rivers,  chanting  to  the  sun ; 
And  wearing  names  of  honor,  every  one  ; 
Outreaching  wide,  and  joining  hand  with  hand 
To  pour  great  gifts  along  the  asking  land. 

••  Ah,  lonely  brook !  creep  onward  through  the  pinea ! 
Press  through  the  gloom,  to  where  the  daylight  shinei ! 
Sing  on  among  the  stones,  and  secretly 
Feel  how  the  floods  are  all  akin  to  thee ! 

"  Drink  the  sweet  rain  the  gentle  heaven  sendeth ; 
Hold  thine  own  path,  howeverward  it  tcndeth ; 
For,  somewhere,  underneath  the  eternal  sky, 
Thou,  too,  shall  find  the  Rivers,  by-and-by ! " 

Faith's  voice  trembled  with  earnestness  as  she  finished. 
When  she  looked  up  from  the  paper  as  she  refolded  it, 
tears  of  feeling  were  running  down  Glory's  cheeks. 

"  Why,  the  little  brook  has  overflowed ! "  cried  Faith, 


178      FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

playfully.  If  she  had  not  found  thia  to  say,  she  would 
have  cried,  herself. 

"Miss  Faith!"  said  Glory,  "I  aint  sure  whether  I  was 
meant  to  tell ;  but  do  you  know  what  the  minister  haa 
asked  Miss  Henderson  ?  Perhaps  she  won't ;  I  'm  afraid 
not ;  it  would  be  too  good  a  time !  but  he  wants  her  to  let 
him  come  and  board  with  her !  Just  think  what  it  would 
be  for  him  to  be  in  the  house  with  us  all  the  time !  Why, 
Miss  Faith,  it  would  be  just  as  if  one  of  those  great  Kivers 
had  come  rolling  along  through  the  dark  woods,  right  among 
the  little  lonely  brooks !  " 

Faith  made  no  answer.  She  was  astonished.  Miss  Hen 
derson  had  said  nothing  of  it.  She  never  did  make  known 
her  subjects  of  deliberation  till  the  deliberations  had  be 
come  conclusions. 

"  Why,  you  don't  seem  glad ! " 

"I  am  glad,"  said  Faith,  slowly  and  quietly.  She  was 
strangely  conscious  at  the  moment  that  she  said  so,  glad  as 
she  would  be  if  Mr.  Armstrong  were  really  to  come  so  near, 
and  she  might  see  him  daily,  of  a  half-jealousy  that  Glory 
should  be  nearer  still. 

It  was  quite  true  that  Mr.  Armstrong  had  this  wish. 
Hitherto,  he  had  been  at  the  house  of  the  elder  minister, 
Mr.  Holland.  But  the  three  months  had  expired,  —  Mr. 
Holland,  convinced  by  continued  weakness  and  the  growing 
infirmities  of  his  age  that  his  active  labors  were  ended,  had 
offered  his  resignation  of  the  parochial  charge ;  and  this 
having  been  accepted,  a  unanimous  invitation  had  been 
given  to  Mr.  Armstrong  by  the  people  to  remain  among 
them  as  their  settled  pastor.  This  he  had  not  yet  con 
sented  to  do.  But  he  had  entered  upon  another  engage- 
aaent  of  six  months,  to  preach  for  them.  Now  he  needed 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.       179 

a  permanent  home,  which  he  could  not  conveniently  have  at 
Mr.  Holland's. 

There  was  great  putting  of  heads  together  at  the  "Dor 
cas,"  about  ifc. 

Mrs.  Gimp  "would  offer;  but  then  —  there  was  Serena, 
and  folks  would  talk." 

Other  families  had  similar  holdbacks, — that  is  the  word, 
for  they  were  not  absolute  insuperabilities,  —  wary  mothers 
were  waiting  until  it  should  appear  positively  necessary  that 
somebody  should  waive  objection,  and  take  the  homeless 
pastor  in ;  and  each  watched  keenly  for  the  critical  moment 
when  it  should  be  just  late  enough,  and  not  too  late,  for  her 
to  yield. 

Meanwhile,  Mr.  Armstrong  quietly  left  all  this  seething, 
and  walked  off  out  of  the  village,  one  day,  to  Cross  Corners, 
and  asked  Miss  Henderson  if  he  might  have  one  of  her 
quaint,  pleasant,  old-fashioned  rooms. 

Miss  Henderson  was  deliberating. 

This  very  afternoon,  she  sat  in  the  southwest  tea-parlor, 
with  her  knittiug  forgotten  in  her  lap,  and  her  eyes  search 
ing  the  bright  western  sky,  as  if  for  a  gleam  that  should 
light  her  to  decision. 

"It  aint  that  I  mind  the  trouble.  And  it  aint  that  there 
is  n't  house-room.  And  it  aint  that  I  don't  like  the  minis 
ter,"  soliloquized  she,  after  a  way  she  had  of  talking  over 
matters  to  herself  when  she  and  the  old  house  were  left 
dreaming  together.  "It's  whether  it  would  be  respectable 
common  sense.  I  aint  going  to  take  the  field  with  the 
Gimps  and  the  Leathcrbees,  nor  to  have  them  think  it, 
either.  —  She  's  over  here  almost  every  blessed  day  of  her 
life.  I  might  as  well  try  to  keep  the  sunshine  out  of  the 
»ld  house,  as  to  keep  her ;  and  I  should  be  about  as  likely  to 


180       FAITH  GARTNET'S  GIRLHOOD. 

want  to  do  one  as  the  other.  But  just  let  me  take  in  Mr 
Armstrong,  and  there  'd  be  all  the  eyes  in  the  village 
watching.  There  could  n't  so  much  as  a  cat  walk  in  or 
out,  but  they  'd  know  it,  somehow.  And  they  'd  be  sure  to 
say  she  was  running  after  the  minister/' 

Miss  Henderson's  pronouns  were  not  precise  in  their 
reference.  It  is  n't  necessary  for  soliloquy  to  be  exact. 
She  understood  herself,  and  that  sufficed. 

"  It 's  being  ridiculous  would  n't  be  any  argument  To 
be  sure,  he 's  old  enough  to  be  her  —  uncle!"  This  was 
not  emphasizing  the  absurdity  quite  so  strongly  or  so  defi 
nitely  as  she  intended ;  bu<  \unt  Faith's  climaxes  broke 
down,  unexpectedly,  sometimes,  just  as  they  culminated, 
because  the  honest  fact  fell  short  Her  rhetoric  might  go 
lame ;  but  the  truth  came  never  halt  or  maimed  from  her 
upright  handling. 

"  It  would  be  a  disgrace  to  the  parish,  anyhow,"  she 
resumed,  "  to  let  those  Gimps  and  Leatherbees  get  him  into 
their  net ;  and  they  '11  do  it  if  Providence  or  somebody  don't 
interpose.  I  wish  I  was  sure  whether  it  was  a  leading  or 
not ! " 

By-and-by,  after  a  silent  revolving,  in  which  her  kindly 
inclinations  toward  the  minister,  —  her  memories  of  long 
time,  when  that  young  brother  wrote  his  first  sermons  in 
the  pleasant  room  she  sat  in  now,  —  her  shrewd  reading  of 
plans  and  purposes  in  others,  —  her  thought  for  Faith,  and 
her  calculations  about  the  white  hangings  with  the  ball  and 
fringe  trimmings  that  must  be  bleached  and  put  up  if  Mr. 
Armstrong  came,  and  how  soon  they  could  be  ready  for 
him,  were  curiously  mixed  up  and  interwoven,  —  she  re 
verted,  at  last,  as  she  always  did,  to  that  question  of  its 
being  a  "  leading,"  or  not ;  and,  taking  down  the  old  Bible 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.       181 

from  the  corner  shelf,  she  laid  it  with  solemnity  on  the  little 
light- stand  at  her  side,  and  opened  it,  as  she  had  known 
her  father  do,  in  the  important  crises  of  his  life,  for  an 
"  indication." 

The  wooden  saddle  and  the  gun  were  not  all  that  had 
come  down  to  Aunt  Faith  from  the  primitive  days  of  the 
Puritan  settlers. 

The  leaves  parted  at  the  story  of  the  Good  Samaritan. 
Bible  leaves  are  apt  to  part,  as  the  heart  opens,  in  accord 
ance  with  long  habit  and  holy  use. 

That  evening,  while  Glory  was  washing  up  the  tea-things, 
Aunt  Faith  put  on  cloak  and  hood,  and  walked  over  to 
Cross  Corners. 

"No  —  I  won't  take  off  my  things,"  she  replied  to  Mrs. 
Gartney's  advance  of  assistance.  "  I  've  just  come  over  to 
tell  you  what  I  'm  going  to  do.  I  've  made  up  my  mind  to 
take  the  minister  to  board.  And  when  the  washing  and 
ironing 's  out  of  the  way,  next  week,  I  shall  fix  up  a  room 
for  him,  and  he  '11  come." 

"  That's  a  capital  plan,  Aunt  Faith  ! "  said  her  nephew, 
with  a  tone  of  pleased  animation.  "  Cross  Corners  will  be 
undei  obligation  to  you.  Mr.  Armstrong  is  a  man  whom  I 
greatly  respect  and  admire." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Miss  Henderson.  "And  if  I  did  n't, 
when  a  man  is  beset  with  thieves  all  the  way  from  Jerusa 
lem  to  Jericho,  it 's  time  for  some  kind  of  a  Samaritan  to 
some  along !" 

Next  day,  Mis'  Battis  heard  the  news,  and  had  her  word 
of  comment  to  offer. 

•'  She 's  got  room  enough  for  him,  if  that 's  all ;  but  I 
Would  n't  a  believed  she  'd  have  let  herself  be  put  about 
and  upset  so,  if  it  was  for  John  the  Baptist  1  I  always 

16 


182     FAITH  GARTNEY*S  GIRLHOOD. 

thought  she  was  setter  'n  an  old  hen !  But  then,  she  'a 
gittin'  into  years,  and  it 's  kinder  handy,  I  s'pose,  havin'  a 
minister  round  the  house,  sayin'  she  should  be  took  anywaya 
sudden !  " 

Village  comments  it  would  be  needless  to  attempt  to 
chronicle. 

April  days  began  to  wear  t'aeir  tearful  beauty,  and  the 
southwest  room  at  the  old  house  was  given  up  to  Mr 
Armstrong. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

PAUL. 

••  Standing',  with  reluctant  feet, 
Where  the  brook  and  river  meet, 
Womanhood  and  childhood  fleet ! " 

LONGFELLOW. 

GLORY  had  not  been  content  with  the  utmost  she  could 
find  to  do  in  making  the  southwest  room  as  clean,  and 
bright,  and  fresh,  and  perfect  in  its  appointments  as  her 
zealous  labor  and  Miss  Henderson's  nice,  old-fashioned 
methods  and  materials  afforded  possibility  for.  Twenty 
times  a  day,  during  the  few  that  intervened  between  its 
fitting  up  and  Mr.  Armstrong's  occupation  of  it,  she  darted 
in,  to  settle  a  festoon  of  fringe,  or  to  pick  a  speck  from  the 
carpet,  or  to  move  a  chair  a  hair's-breadth  this  way  or 
that,  or  to  smooth  an  invisible  crease  in  the  counterpane, 
or,  above  all,  to  take  a  pleased  survey  of  everything  once 
more,  and  to  wonder  how  the  minister  would  like  it. 

So  well,  indeed,  he  liked  it,  when  he  had  taken  full  pos 
session,  that  he  seemed  to  divine  the  favorite  room  must 
have  been  relinquished  to  him,  and  to  scruple  at  keeping  it 
quite  solely  to  himself. 

In  the  pleasant  afternoons,  when  the  spring  sun  got 
round  to  his  westerly  windows,  and  away  from  the  south 


184       FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

east  apartment,  whither  Miss  Henderson  had  betaken  her- 
self,  her  knitting-work,  and  her  Bible,  and  where  now  the 
meals  were  always  spread,  he  would  >pen  his  door,  and  let 
the  pleasantness  stray  out  across  the  passage,  and  into  the 
keeping-room,  and  would  often  take  a  book,  and  come  in, 
himself,  also,  with  the  sunlight.  Then  Glory,  busy  in  the 
kitchen,  just  beyond,  would  catch  words  of  conversation,  or 
of  reading,  or  even  be  called  in  to  hear  the  latter.  And 
she  began  to  think  that  there  were  good  times,  truly,  in  thia 
world,  and  that  even  she  was  "  in  'em !  " 

April  days,  as  they  lengthened  and  brightened,  brought 
other  things,  also,  to  pass. 

The  Kushleigh  party  had  returned  from  Europe. 

Faith  had  a  note  from  Margaret  The  second  wedding 
was  close  at  hand,  and  would  she  not  come  down  ? 

But  her  services  as  bridesmaid  were  not  needed  this 
time  ;  there  was  nothing  so  exceedingly  urgent  in  the  invi 
tation, —  Faith's  intimacy  was  with  the  Eushleighs,  not 
the  Livingstons,  —  that  she  could  not  escape  its  acceptance 
if  she  desired  ;  and  so  —  there  was  a  great  deal  to  be  done 
in  summer  preparation,  which  Mis'  Battis,  with  her  delib 
erate  dignity,  would  never  accomplish  alone  ;  also,  there 
was  the  forget-me-not  ring  lying  in  her  box  of  ornaments, 
that  gave  her  a  little  troubled  perplexity  as  often  as  she 
saw  it  there  ;  and  Faith  excused  herself  in  a  graceful  little 
note,  and  staid  at  Cross  Corners,  helping  her  mother  fold 
away  the  crimson  curtains,  and  get  up  the  white  muslin 
ones,  make  up  summer  sacks  for  Hendie,  and  retouch  her 
own  simple  wardrobe,  which  this  year  could  receive  little 
addition. 

Kind,  sisterly  fingers  helped  Hendie  now,  in  his  morning 
robings ;  and  sweet  words  and  pretty  stories  replaced  the 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.       185 

old,  taunting  rhyme ;  and  there  were  little,  easy,  pleasant 
lessons  after  the  rooms  were  all  made  nice  for  the  day ;  and 
on  Sunday  there  was  a  special  happy  walk  up  over  the 
Ridge,  whon  Faith  simplified  for  him  and  made  beautiful 
to  his  childish  comprehension  the  truth,  whatever  it  might 
have  been,  that  a  stronger  soul  had  fed  herself  with,  a  few 
hours  before. 

Faith  was  finding  work,  daily,  at  her  hand,  to  do.  The 
lessons  with  Glory  went  on  ;  and  the  Bible-class,  —  Faith's 
one  great,  weekly  joy,  —  to  which  Mr.  Armstrong  walked 
with  them,  in  the  bright,  balmy,  Sunday  mornings,  giving 
them  beautiful  words,  or  keeping  beautiful  silence  as  they 
went,  so  that,  like  the  disciples,  journeying  toward  Emmau?, 
"their  hearts  burned  within  them  by  the  way.''  After  the 
Sunday-school,  Glory  disappeared  into  her  corner  seat  in 
Miss  Henderson's  pew,  and  when  the  service  in  church  was 
ended,  took  her  quiet  and  speedy  way  home,  alone,  reaching 
it  enough  earlier  than  her  mistress  to  have  removed  her  out 
side  garments,  put  on  a  clean  calico  apron,  and  begun  to 
dish  the  simple  dinner  by  the  time  Miss  Henderson  and 
Mr.  Armstrong  came  in. 

However  joyfully  and  gratefully  she  might  feel  herself 
welcomed  upon  equal  ground  where  all  are  indeed  equal, 
she  was  never  led  into  any  forgetfulness,  thereby,  of  the 
difference  of  outward  position,  and  of  daily  duty.  Perhaps 
they  whom  God  in  His  wise  will,  may  have  placed  a  little 
higher  by  gift  and  opportunity,  lessen  really  nothing  of 
their  height  to  the  eyes  of  others  below,  when  they  reach 
down  willing  hands  to  draw  them,  also,  up. 

One  day,  Aunt  Faith  had  twisted  her  foot  by  a  slip  upon 
ihc  stairs,  aud  was  kept  at  home.  Glory,  of  course,  waa 
obliged  to  remain  also,  as  Miss  Henderson  was  confined, 
helpless,  to  her  chair  or  sofa. 


136       FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

Faith  Gartney  and  the  minister  walked  down  the  pleas 
ant  lane,  and  along  the  quiet  road  to  the  village  church, 
together. 

Faith  had  fresh,  white  ribbons,  to-day,  upon  her  simple 
straw  bonnet,  and  delicate  flowers  and  deep  green  leaves 
about  her  face.  She  seemed  like  an  outgrowth  of  the  morn 
ing,  so  purely  her  sweet  look  and  fair  unsulliedness  of  attire 
reflected  and  interpreted,  as  it  were,  the  significance  of  the 
day's  own  newness  and  beauty. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Mr.  Armstrong,  presently,  after 
the  morning  greeting  had  passed,  and  they  had  walked  a 
few  paces,  silently,  "do  you  know  that  you  are  one  of 
Glory's  saints,  Miss  Faith  ?  " 

"  Faith's  wondering  eyes  looked  out  their  questioning 
astonishment  from  a  deep  rosiness  that  overspread  her  face. 

The  minister  was  not  apt  to  make  remarks  of  at  all  a 
personal  bearing.  Neither  was  this  allusion  to  sainthood 
quite  to  have  been  looked  for,  from  his  lips.  Faith  could 
scarcely  comprehend. 

"  I  found  her  this  morning,  as  I  came  out  to  cross  the 
field,  sitting  on  the  door-stone  with  her  Bible  and  a  rosary 
of  beautiful,  small,  variously-tinted  shells  upon  her  lap.  I 
stopped  to  speak  with  her,  and  asked  leave  to  look  at  them. 
•  They  were  given  to  me  when  I  was  very  little,'  she  said. 
'  A  lady  sent  them  from  Eome.  The  Pope  blessed  them ! ' 
'  They  are  very  beautiful,'  I  said,  '  and  a  blessing,  if  that 
mean  a  true  man's  prayer,  can  never  be  worthless.  But — 
I  asked  her,  '  do  you  use  these,  Glory? '  '  Not  as  she  did 
once,'  she  said.  She  had  almost  forgotten  about  that.  She 
Knew  the  larger  beads  stood  for  saints,  and  the  smaller  onea 
between  were  prayers.  '  But,'  she  went  on,  •  it  is  n't  for 
my  prayers  I  keep  them  now.  I've  named  some  of  my 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.       187 

saints'  beads  for  the  people  that  have  done  me  the  most 
good  in  my  life,  and  been  the  kindest  to  me ;  and  the  little 
ones  are  thoughts,  and  things  they  've  taught  me.  This 
large  one,  with  the  queer  spots,  is  Miss  Henderson ;  and 
this  lovely  rose-colored  one  is  Miss  Faith ;  and  these  are 
Katie  Eyan  and  Bridget  Foye ;  but  you  don't  know  about 
them. '  And  then  she  timidly  told  me  that  the  white  one 
next  the  cross  was  mine.  The  child  humbled  me,  Miss 
Faith !  It  is  nearly  fearful,  sometimes,  to  get  a  glimpse  of 
what  one  is  to  some  trustful  human  soul,  who  looks  through 
one  toward  the  Highest !  " 

Faith  had  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"Glory  is  such  a  strange  girl,"  said  she.  "She  seema 
to  have  an  instinct  for  things  that  other  people  are  educated 
up  to." 

"  She  has  seized  the  spirit  of  the  dead  Roman  calendar, 
and  put  it  into  this  rosary.  Our  saints  are  the  spirits 
through  whom  God  wills  to  send  us  of  His  own.  What 
ever  becomes  to  us  a  channel  of  His  truth  and  love  we 
must  involuntarily  canonize  and  consecrate.  Woe,  if  by 
the  same  channel  ever  an  offence  cometh !  " 

"I  never  thought  of  it  before,"  said  Faith ;  "but  I  don't 
wonder  the  Romans  like  to  believe  as  they  do  about  the 
saints  and  the  pope.  If  it  only  were  true  that  we  could 
know  exactly  into  whose  hands  had  come  down  directly 
what  Christ  gave  to  Peter ! " 

"We  know  what  is  better,"  said  Mr.  Armstrong.  "We 
know  that  we  can  stand  by  Christ's  side  with  Peter,  and 
receive  it  to  ourselves." 

Faith's  lips  parted  eagerly,  and  then  closed  again,  liko 
one  afraid  to  speak. 

"  What  is  it,  my  child?  "  asked  the  minister,  with  a  kind 
persuasiveness. 


188       FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

"Mr.  Armstrong!  "  said  Faith,  "you draw  me  out  to  aay 
things  ttat  I  wonder,  afterward,  how  I  have  dared !  I  sup 
pose  it  is  wrong — it  must  be — but  I  cannot  help  thinking, 
sometimes,  why  our  Saviour  did  not  come  into  the  world  to 
stay !  It  wants  him  so." 

"Does  He  not  stay?" 

"  In  the  way  you  mean  — yes,"  replied  Faith,  gently  and 
fearfully.  "  But  that  is  so  hard  for  people  to  believe  and 
remember." 

"  I  mean  a&  literal  a  thing  as  the  truth  can  be.  I  mean 
that  when  Christ  said,  '  I  am  with  you  to  the  end  of  the 
world,'  he  only  said  that  which  was — which,  by  the  lawa 
of  things,  could  not  help  being  —  simply,  and  without  met- 
aphor,  true." 

Faith  almost  paused  in  her  walk  to  listen. 

"Events  and  deeds  are  not  done  with  in  the  moment  they 
are  enacted.  Does  a  sublime  instant  in  history  pass  by  into 
nothingness,  except  for  the  memory  that  it  has  been  ?  God 
is  the  God  of  Abraham,  Isaac,  and  Jacob  He  is  not  the 
God  of  the  dead,  but  of  the  living.  It  is  only  our  finiteness 
that  compels  us  to  receive  in  succession,  and  pass  over  into 
what  we  call  the  past.  The  past  is  back  again  to  whatever 
soul,  by  sympathy,  lives  keenly  in  any  instant  of  it.  It  is 
all  God's  Present.  We  need  not  say,  '  Oh,  if  we  had  lived 
in  the  days  when  Christ  walked  here  upon  the  earth  ! ' 
We  do  live  wherever  we  truly  find  our  life.  Christ's  Life 
—  every  moment  of  it  —  is  an  everlasting  Presence  in  the 
earth.  The  hem  of  his  garment  sweeps  to  the  farthest  edge 
of  being.  He  sits  at  the  head  of  the  feast ;  and  sends  thr 
cup  of  blessing  down ;  and  it  matters  not  whether  Johrij 
upon  his  bosom,  or  Jude,  or  James,  or  Peter,  or  you  and  1, 
with  what  we  call  the  nineteen  centuries  between,  recede 
it.  It  is  one  Act —  one  Gift  —  forever  1 " 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.       189 

They  were  silent,  then,  again,  until  they  had  almost 
reached  the  church. 

Mr.  Armstrong  turned  to  Faith  once  more,  before  they 
entered. 

"Read  all  the  Gospel  scenes  with  that  thought.  Go 
back  into  them,  and  live  them.  And  believe  always,  that 
it'  so  your  soul  can  go  to  Christ,  across  all  time,  His 
Bpirit  can  no  less  come  to  you  !  " 

Are  these  too  grave  and  solemn  pages  for  a  story? 
Grave  and  solemn  is  our  life,  also ;  and  the  deep  thoughts 
do  come,  and  no  narration  can  be  true  in  fact  or  purpose, 
which  shall  leave  them  out.  I  do  not  think  the  girl  of 
eighteen  who  feels  the  soul  within  her,  will  pass  them  by 
unread,  any  more  than  if  a  high  and  earnest  spirit,  like 
that  I  seek  here  to  delineate,  have  ever  met  her  in  her 
world,  she  oan  have  done  other  than  hail  it  reverently  and 
gladly.  Thank  God,  so  His  truth  hath  even  already  spread, 
that  no  wide  circle  can  be  drawn  in  fact  or  fancy  which 
may  not  easily  include  some  such  !  There  is  no  life  so 
frivolous  that  a  holy  day  is  not  offered  it  once  in  seven. 
Shall  we  write  books  that  tell  of  years,  and  have  no  Sab 
baths  in  them?  If  I  would  do  this,  it  would  be  impossible 
for  me  to  tell  the  story  of  Faith's  girlhood  truly,  and  not 
give  therein,  however  faintly  and  incidentally,  something 
of  the  deeper  influences  that  wrought  upon  her  nature ;  nor 
could  I  speak  of  this  life-friend  of  hers,  and  not  show  him 
as  he  was,  in  his  daily  word  and  living. 

Perhaps  Faith  was  nearly  the  only  person  in  church,  to 
day,  who  did  not  notice  that  there  were  strangers  in  the 
pew  behind  the  Gimps.  When  she  came  out,  she  was  joined ; 
and  not  by  strangers.  Margaret  and  Paul  liushleigh  came 
eagerly  to  her  side. 


;90      FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

"  We  came  out  to  Lakeside  to  stay  a  day  or  two  with  the 
Morrises ;  and  ran  away  from  them  here,  purposely  to  meet 
you.  And  we  mean  to  be  very  good,  and  go  to  church  all 
lay,  if  you  will  take  us  home  with  you  meanwhile." 

Faith,  between  her  surprise,  her  pleasure,  her  embarrass- 
cent,  the  rush  of  old  remembrance,  and  a  quick,  apprehen- 
iive  thought  of  Mis'  Battis  and  her  probable  arrangements, 
made  almost  an  awkward  matter  of  her  reply.  But  her 
father  and  mother  came  up,  welcomed  the  Rushleighs  cor 
dially,  and  the  five  were  presently  on  their  way  toward  Cross 
Corners,  and  Faith  had  recovered  sufficient  self-possession 
to  say  something  beyond  mere  words  of  course. 

Paul  Rushlcigh  looked  very  handsome  !  And  very  glad, 
too,  to  see  shy  Faith,  who  kept  as  invisible  as  might  be 
at  Margaret's  other  side,  and  looked  there,  in  her  simple 
spring  dress  contrasted  with  Margaret's  rich  and  fashiona 
ble,  though  also  simple  and  lady-like  attire,  like  a  field  daisy 
beside  a  garden  rose. 

Margaret  was  charmed  with  everything.  With  being  at 
Kinnicutt,  with  the  day,  with  the  sermon,  with  Cross  Cor 
ners,  and  the  house ;  most  of  all,  with  Faith's  own  bright 
chamber,  where  the  blossoming  elm-boughs  were  swaying  in 
at  the  open  windows,  and  with  the  room  below,  whither  she 
was  ushered  when  bonnet  and  mantle  had  been  removed,  and 
where  the  door  was  thrown  back  that  gave  out  upon  the 
grassy  slope,  fresh  with  its  tender  green,  and  let  in  th«? 
breaths  of  budding  shrubs  ard  sun-kissed  soil. 

Faith  couldn't  help  being  glad  that  the  warm  spring 
noontide  allowed  and  suggested  this  arraugcmcnt. 

"  It 's  a  little,  old  house  ;  "  said  she  tu  Miss  Rushleigh, 
who  was  enthusiastically  praising  each  new  aspect;  "but 
we  can  let  in  all  out  doors,  you  see,  and  that  makes  it  large 
enoujrh  " 


FAITH   GARTNEY 'S   GIRLHOOD.       191 

"  Who  wants  brick  and  mortar  in  the  country?"  asked 
Margaret,  with  a  disdain  of  all  but  what  she  saw  before  her. 

Faith  remembered,  secretly,  the  winds  and  sleet  of  a  few 
months  back,  and  their  closed  doors  and  snuggery  of  half  a 
house,  and  doubted  whether  her  friend  would  quite  have 
weathered  and  endured  all  this,  for  the  after-joy  of  May  or 
June.  We  stand,  serene,  at  sunny  points  in  life,  and  to 
them  who  smile  at  seeing  us  glad  say  nothing  of  the  interval 
3f  storms ! 

Dinner  was  of  no  moment.  There  was  only  roast  chickeu, 
Pressed  the  day  before,  and  reheated  and  served  with  hot 
1  egetables  since  their  coming  in,  and  a  custard-pudding,  and 
tsome  pastry-cakes  that  Faith's  fingers  had  shaped,  and 
coffee ;  but  they  drank  in  balm  and  swallowed  sunshine, 
aad  the  essence  of  all  that  was  to  be  concrete  by-and-by  in 
fiuitful  fields  and  gardens.  And  they  talked  of  old  times! 
Three  years  old,  nearly !  And  Faith  and  Margaret  laughed, 
and  Mrs.  Gartney  listened:  and  dispensed  dinner,  or  spoke 
gently  now  and  then,  and  Paul  did  his  cleverest  with  Mr 
Gartney,  so  that  the  latter  gentleman  declared  afterward 
that  " young  Eushleigh  was  a  capital  fellow;  well  posted; 
his  father's  million  did  n't  seem  to.  have  spoiled  him  yet." 

Altogether,  this  unexpected  visit  infused  great  life  at 
Cross  Corners. 

Why  was  it  that  Faith,  when  she  thought  it  all  over, 
tried  to  weigh  so  very  nicely  just  the  amount  of  gladness 
she  had  felt ;  and  was  dimly  conscious  of  a  vague  misgiving, 
deep  down,  lest  her  father  and  mother  might  possibly  be  a 
little  more  glad  than  she  was  quite  ready  to  have  them? 
What  made  Ler  especially  rejoice  that  Saidie  and  the  straw 
berries  had  not  come  yet? 

There  arc  certain  shadows  of  feeling  so  faint,  so  indefinite. 


192      FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

that  when  we  look  fully  at  them,  they  are  no  longer  there. 
Faith  could  surely  analyze  neither  her  pleasure  nor  her  doubt 

When  Paul  Rushleigh  took  her  hand  at  parting,  — Faith 
stood,  ungloved,  on  the  great  door-stone  under  the  elms, 
Paul  and  Margaret  having  accompanied  her  home  from 
afternoon  church,  before  setting  out  on  their  walk  to  Lake 
side,  whither  they  must  return,  they  said,  for  the  Morrises' 
late  dinner,  —  he  glanced  down,  as  he  did  so,  at  the  fair 
little  fingers,  and  then  up,  inquiringly,  at  Faith's  face. 
Her  eyes  fell,  and  the  color  rose,  till  it  became  an  indig 
nation  at  itself.  She  gi-ew  hot,  for  days  afterward,  many  a 
time,  as  she  remembered  it.  Who  has  not  blushed  at  the 
self-suspicion  of  blushing? 

Who  has  not  blushed  at  the  simple  recollection  of  having 
blushed  before  ?  On  Monday,  this  happened.  Faith  went 
over  to  the  Old  House,  to  inquire  about  Aunt  Henderson's 
foot,  and  to  sit  with  her,  if  she  should  wish  it,  for  an  hour. 
She  chose  the  hour  at  which  she  thought  Mr.  Armstrong 
usually  walked  to  the  village.  Somehow,  greatly  as  she 
enjoyed  all  the  minister's  kindly  words,  and  each  moment 
of  his  accidental  presence,  she  had,  of  late,  almost  invariably 
taken  this  time  for  coming  over  to  see  Aunt  Faith.  A  secret 
womanly  instinct,  only,  it  was ;  waked  into  no  consciousness, 
and  but  ignorantly  aware  of  its  own  prompting. 

To-day,  however,  Mr.  Armstrong  had  not  gone  out.  Some 
writing  that  he  was  tempted  to  do,  contrary  to  his  usual 
Monday  habit,  had  detained  him  within.  And  so,  just  as 
Miss  Henderson,  having  given  the  history  of  her  slip,  and 
the  untoward  wrenching  of  her  foot,  and  its  present  con 
dition,  to  Faith's  inquiries,  asked  her  suddenly,  "if  they 
had  n't  had  some  city  visitors  yesterday,  and  what  sent 
them  flacketting  over  from  Lakeside  to  church  in  the  vil- 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.       193 

lage?"  the  minister  walked  in.  If  he  had  n't  heard,  she 
might  not  have  done  it;  but,  with  the  abrupt  question, 
came,  as  abruptly,  the  hot  memory  of  yesterday ;  and  with 
those  other  eyes,  beside  the  double  keenness  of  Aunt  Faith's 
over  her  spectacles,  upon  her,  it  was  so  much  worse  if  she 
should,  that  of  course  she  could  n't  help  doing  it !  She  col 
ored  up,  and  up,  till  the  very  roots  of  her  soft  hair  tingled, 
and  a  quick  shame  wrapped  her  as  in  a  flaming  garment. 

The  minister  saw,  and  read.  Not  quite  the  obvious  in 
ference  Faith  might  fear,  —  he  had  a  somewhat  profounder 
knowledge  of  nature  than  that, — but  what  persuaded  him 
there  was  a  thought,  at  least,  between  the  two  who  met 
yesteiday,  more  than  of  a  mere  chance  greeting;  it  might 
not  lie  so  much  with  Faith  as  with  the  other ;  yet  it  had 
the  power,  —  even  the  consciousness  of  its  unspoken  being, 
to  send  the  crimson  to  her  face.  What  kept  the  crimson 
there  and  deepened  it,  he  knew  quite  well.  He  knew  the 
shame  was  at  having  blushed  at  all. 

Nevertheless,  Mr.  Armstrong  remembered  that  blush, 
and  pondered  it,  almost  as  long  as  Faith  herself.  In  the 
little  time  that  he  had  felt  himself  her  friend,  he  had  grown 
to  recognize  so  fully,  and  to  prize  so  dearly,  her  truth,  her 
purity,  her  high-mindedness,  her  reverence,  that  no  new 
influence  could  show  itself  in  her  life,  without  touching  his 
solicitous  love.  Was  this  young  man  worthy  of  a  blush 
from  Faith  ?  Was  there  a  height  in  his  nature  answering 
to  the  reach  of  hers?  Was  the  quick,  impulsive  pain  that 
came  to  him  in  the  thought  of  how  much  that  rose-hue 
of  forehead  and  cheek  might  mean,  an  intuition  of  his 
stronger  and  more  instructed  soul  of  a  danger  to  the  child 
that  she  might  not  dream  ?  Be  it  as  it  might,  Roger  Arm 
strong  pondered.  He  would  also  watch. 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

PRESSURE. 

"  To  b«  warped,  unconsciously,  by  the  magnetic  influence  of  all  around 
to  the  destiny,  to  a  certain  extent,  of  even  the  greatest  souls." 

OAKFI£U>. 

SOMETIMES  there  springs  up  in  a  quiet  life  a  period  when 
all  its  elements  seem  fermenting  together;  when,  emphati 
cally,  in  more  than  the  common  meaning  of  the  common 
phrase,  "  something  seems  brewing ;  "  when  all  sorts  of  un 
expected  conjunctures  and  combinations  arise,  and  amid  a 
multitude  of  strange  and  unforeseen  forces,  one  is  impelled 
forward  to  some  new  path. 

It  is  for  Life, — not  so  much,  even,  for  Death,  —  that 
we  are  to  be  "  ready."  Ready  for  God's  call,  that  comes 
to  us  in  an  hour  when  we  think  not,  and  demands  all  the 
strength  we  should  have  grown  to,  to  enable  us  to  decide 
and  act.  Ah !  the  many  foolish  ones,  who,  with  lamps  un- 
trimmed,  are  in  no  plight  to  meet  the  exigence  of  circum 
stance,  or  the  flash  of  opportunity,  but  are  swayed  hither 
or  thither  into  ways  that  were  never  planned  for  them  in 
God's  projection  of  their  lives,  but  wherein  they  stumble, 
or  are  left,  darkly,  while  His  golden  moment  goes  by ! 

June  came,  and  Saidie  Gartney.     Not  for  flowers,  or 

strawberries,  merely    but  for  father's  and  mother's  consent 

194 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.      195 

that,  in  a  few  weeks,  when  flowers  and  strawberries  should 
have  fully  come,  there  should  be  a  marriage  feast  made  for 
her  in  the  simple  home,  and  she  should  go  forth  into  the 
gay  world  again,  the  bride  of  a  wealthy  New  York  banker. 

Aunt  Etherege  and  Saidie  filled  the  house.  With  finery, 
with  bustle,  with  important  presence. 

Miss  Gartney's  engagement  had  been  sudden ;  her  mar 
riage  was  to  be  speedy.  Half-a-dozen  seamstresses,  and  as 
many  sewing-machines,  were  busy  in  New  York,  —  hands, 
feet,  and  wheels,  —  in  making  up  the  delicate  draperies  for 

the  trousseau;  and  Madame  A was  frantic  with  the 

heap  of  elaborate  dresses  that  was  thrust  upon  her  hands, 
and  must  be  ready  for  the  thirtieth. 

Mrs.  Gartney  and  Faith  had  enough  to  do,  to  put  the 
house  and  themselves  in  festival  trim.  Hendie  was  spoiled 
with  having  no  lessons,  and  more  toys  and  sugar-plums 
than  he  knew  what  to  do  with.  Mr.  Selmore's  comings 
and  goings  made  special  ebullitions,  weekly,  where  was 
only  a  continuous  lesser  effervescence  before.  Mis'  Battis 
had  not  been  able  to  subside  into  an  arm-chair  since  the 
last  day  of  May. 

Faith  found  great  favor  in  the  eyes  of  her  brother-in-law 
elect.  He  pronounced  her  a  "naive,  piquante little  person," 
and  already  there  was  talk  of  how  pleasant  it  would  be,  to 
have  her  in  Madison  Square,  and  show  her  to  the  world. 
Faith  said  nothing  to  this,  but  in  her  heart  she  clung  to 
Kinnicutt. 

Glory  thought  Miss  Gartney  wonderful.  Even  Mr.  Arm 
strong  spoke  to  Aunt  Faith  of  the  striking  beauty  of  her 
elder  niece. 

"  I  don't  know  how  she  does  look,"  Aunt  Faith  replied 
with  all  her  ancient  gruffness.  "  I  see  a  great  show  of 


196      FAITH  GARTNERS  GIRLHOOD. 

flounces,  and  manners,  and  hair,  but  they  don't  look  as  if 
they  all  grew,  natural.  I  can't  make  her  out,  amongst  all 
that.  Now  Faith's  just  Faith.  You  see  her  prettinesa 
the  minute  you  look  at  her,  as  you  do  a  flower's. 

"There  are  not  many  like  Miss  Faith,"  replied  Mr. 
Armstrong.  "  I  never  knew  but  one  other  who  wore  so  the 
fresh,  pure  beauty  of  God's  giving." 

His  voice  was  low  and  quiet,  and  his  eye  looked  afar,  as 
he  spoke. 

Glory  went  away,  and  sat  down  on  the  door-stone.  There 
was  a  strange  tumult  at  her  heart.  In  the  midst,  a  noble 
joy.  About  it,  a  disquietude,  as  of  one  who  feels  shut  out, 
—  alone. 

"  I  don't  know  what  ails  me.  I  wonder  if  I  aint  glad ! 
Of  course,  it 's  nothing  to  me.  I  aint  in  it.  But  it  must 
be  beautiful  to  be  so !  And  to  have  such  words  said  !  She 
don't  know  what  a  sight  the  minister  thinks  of  her !  I 
know.  I  knew  before.  It's  beautiful  —  but  I  aint  in  it. 
Only,  I  think  I  've  got  the  feeling  of  it  all.  And  I  'm  glad 
it 's  real,  somewhere.  Some  way,  I  seem  to  have  so  much 
\ere,  that  never  grows  out  into  anything.  Maybe  I'd  be 
beautiful  if  it  did  ! " 

So  talked  Glory,  interjectionally,  with  herself. 

In  the  midst  of  these  excited  days,  there  came  two  letters 
to  Mr.  Gartney. 

One  was  from  a  gentleman  in  Michigan,  in  relation  to 
&.  me  land  Mr.  Gartney  owned  there,  taken  years  ago,  at  a 
very  low  valuation,  for  a  debt.  This  was  likely,  from  the 
rapid  growth  and  improvement  in  the  neighborhood,  to  be 
come,  within  a  few  years,  perhaps,  a  property  of  some  im 
portance. 

"  By-and-by,"    said  he  to  his  wife,  to   whom  he   had 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.       197 

handed  the  letter  across  the  table  for  perusal,  "  I  must 
try  aud  get  out  there,  and  look  up  that  Ovvasso  farm  of 
mine." 

The  other  letter  was  from  his  son,  James  Gartney,  in 
San  Francisco.  The  young  man  urged  his  father  to  con 
sider  whether  it  might  not  be  a  good  idea  for  him  to  come 
out  and  join  him  in  California.  ' '  You  ai-e  well  out  of 
business,  there,"  he  wrote,  "  and  when  you  begin  to  feel 
like  trying  something  again,  why  not  come  round  ?  There 
is  always  plenty  to  be  done  here,  and  the  climate  would 
just  suit  you.  That,  and  the  voyage,  would  set  you  up, 
right  off." 

Mr.  Gartney,  by  his  year  of  comparative  rest,  and  country 
air  and  living,  had  gained  strength  that  lie  began  to  be 
impatient,  now,  to  use.  An  invalid's  first  vigor  is  like  a 
school-boy's  coin,  that  "burns  in  his  pocket."  He  is  in. a 
wonderful  hurry  to  do  something  with  it.  Mrs.  Gartney 
saw  that  Cross  Corners  would  not  limit  him  long,  and 
began  to  feel  her  old  anxiety  creeping  up,  lest  he  should 
rush,  impulsively,  into  risk  and  excitement  and  worry 
again. 

James  Gartney's  proposal  evidently  roused  his  attention. 
It  was  a  great  deal  to  think  of,  certainly  ;  but  it  was  worth 
thinking  of,  too.  James  had  married  in  San  Francisco, 
had  a  pleasant  home  there,  and  was  prospering.  Many  old 
business  friends  had  gone  from  Mishaumok,  in  the  years 
when  the  great  flood  of  enterprise  set  westward  across  the 
continent,  and  were  building  up  name  and  influence  in  the 
Golden  Land.  The  idea  found  a  place  in  his  brain,  and 
clung  there.  Only,  there  was  Faith !  But  things  might 
come  round  so  that  even  this  thought  need  be  no  hindrance 
to  the  scheme. 


198      FAITH  GARTNERS  GIRLHOOD. 

Changes,  and  plans,  and  interests,  and  influences  were 
gathering ;  all  to  bear  down  upon  one  young  life. 

"More  news!"  said  Mr.  Gartney,  one  morning,  coming 
in  from  his  walk  to  the  village  post-office,  to  the  pleasant 
sitting-room,  or  morning-room,  as  Mrs.  Etheregeand  Saidie 
called  it,  where  Faith  was  helping  her  sister  write  a  list 
of  the  hundreds  who  were  to  receive  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sel- 
more's  cards,  —  "At  Home,  in  September,  in  Madison 
Square."  "  Whom  do  you  think  I  met  in  the  village,  this 
morning?" 

Everybody  looked  up,  and  everybody's  imagination  took 
a  discursive  leap  among  possibilities,  and  then  everybody, 
of  course,  asked  "  Whom  ?  " 

"  Old  Jacob  Rushleigh,  himself.  He  has  taken  a  house 
at  Lakeside,  for  the  summer.  And  he  has  bought  the  new 
mills  just  over  the  river.  That  is  to  give  young  Paul 
something  to  do,  I  imagine.  Kinnicutt  has  begun  to 
grow ;  and  when  places  or  people  once  take  a  start,  there 's 
no  knowing  what  they  may  come  to.  Here's  something 
for  you,  Faithie,  that  I  dare  say  tells  all  about  it." 

And  he  tossed  over  her  shoulder,  upon  the  table,  a  letter, 
bearing  her  name,  in  Margaret  Rushleigh's  chirograph,  upon 
vhe  cover. 

Faith's  head  was  bent  over  the  list  she  was  writing ;  bat 
t  le  vexatious  color,  feeling  itself  shielded  in  her  face,  crept 
round  till  it  made  her  ear-tips  rosy.  Saidie  put  out  her 
forefinger,  with  a  hardly  perceptible  motion,  at  the  tell 
tale  sign,  and  nodded  at  Aunt  Etherege  behind  her  sister's 
back. 

Aunt  Etherege  looked  bland  and  sagacious. 

Up  stairs,  a  little  after,  these  sentences  were  spoken  U 
Baidie's  room. 


FAITH  GARTNERS  GIRLHOOD.       199 

"Of  course  it  will  be,"  said  the  younger  to  the  elder 
lady.  "It's  been  going  on  ever  siuce  they  were  children. 
Faith  has  n't  a  right  to  say  no,  now.  And  what  else 
brought  him  up  here  after  houses  and  mills  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see  that  the  houses  and  mills  were  necessary 
to  the  object.  Rather  cumbersome  and  costly  machinery, 
I  should  think,  to  bring  to  bear  upon  such  a  simple  pur 
pose." 

"Oh,  the  business  plan  is  something  that  has  come  up 
accidentally,  no  doubt.  Running  after  one  thing,  people 
very  often  stumble  upon  another.  But  it  will  all  play  in 
together,  you'll  see.  Only,  I'm  afraid  I  shan't  have  the 
glory  of  introducing  Faithie  in  New  York  !  " 

"  It  would  be  as  good  a  thing  as  possible.  And  I  can 
perceive  that  your  father  and  mother  count  upon  it,  also. 
In  their  situation  what  a  great  relief  it  would  be !  Of 
course,  Henderson  never  could  do  so  mad  a  thing  as  take 
the  child  up  by  the  roots,  again,  and  transplant  her  to  San 
Francisco !  And  I  see  plainly  he  has  got  that  in  his  own 
head." 

A  door  across  the  passage  at  this  moment  shut,  softly, 
but  securely. 

Behind  it,  in  her  low  chair  by  her  sewing-table,  sat  the 
young  sister  whose  fate  had  been  so  lightly  decreed. 

Was  it  all  just  so,  as  Saidie  had  said?  Had  she  no 
longer  a  right  to  say  no?  Only  themselves  know  how 
easily,  how  almost  inevitably,  young  judgments  and  con 
sciences  are  drawn  on  in  the  track  beaten  down  for  them 
by  others.  Many  and  many  a  life-decision  has  been  made, 
through  this  taken  for  granted  that  bears  with  its  mute, 
but  magnetic  power,  upon  the  shyness  and  irresolution  that 
can  scarcely  face  and  interpret  its  own  wish  or  will. 


200      FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

It  was  very  true,  that,  as  Saidie  Gartney  had  said,  "  this 
had  been  going  on  for  years."  For  years,  Faith  had  found 
great  pleasantness  in  the  companionship  and  evident  prefer 
ence  of  Paul  Rushleigh.  There  had  been  nobody  to  com 
pare  with  him  in  her  young  set  in  Mishaurnok.  She  knew 
he  liked  her.  She  had  been  proud  of  it.  The  girlish 
fancy,  that  may  be  forgotten  in  after  years,  or  may,  fos 
tered  by  circumstances,  endure  and  blow  into  a  calm  and 
happy  wifehood,  had  been  given  to  him.  And  what  troubled 
her  now?  Was  it  that  always,  when  tho  decisive  moment 
approaches,  there  is  a  little  revulsion  of  timid  feminine 
feeling,  even  amid  the  truest  joy  ?  Or  was  it  that  a  new 
wine  had  been  given  into  Faith's  life,  which  would  not  be 
held  in  the  old  bottles  ?  Was  she  uncertain  —  inconstant ; 
or  had  she  spiritually  outgrown  her  old  attachment  ?  Or, 
was  she  bewildered,  now,  out  of  the  discernment  of  what 
was  still  her  heart's  desire  and  need  ? 

Paul  was  kind,  and  true,  and  manly.  She  recognized 
all  this  in  him  as  surely  as  ever.  If  he  had  turned  from, 
and  forgotten  her,  she  would  have  felt  a  pang.  What  was 
this,  then,  that  she  felt,  as  he  came  near,  and  nearer? 

And  then,  her  father!  Had  he  really  begun  to  count 
on  this?  Do  men  know  how  their  young  daughters  feel 
when  the  first  suggestion  comes  that  they  are  not  regarded 
us  born  for  perpetual  daughterhood  in  the  father's  house ; 
Would  she  even  encumber  his  plans,  if  she  clung  still  to 
her  maidenly  life  ? 

By  all  these  subtleties  does  the  destiny  of  woman  close 
in  upon  her. 

Margaret  Rushleigh's  letter  was  full  of  delight,  and 
eagerness,  and  anticipation.  She  and  Paul  had  been  so 
«harmed  with  Kinnicutt  and  Lakeside ;  and  there  had  hap- 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.       201 

pouod  to  be  a  furnished  house  to  let  for  the  season  close 
by  the  Morrises,  and  they  had  persuaded  papa  to  take  it. 
They  were  tired  of  the  sea-shore,  and  Conway  was  getting 
crowded  to  death.  They  wanted  a  real  summer  in  the 
country.  And  then  this  had  turned  up  about  the  mills ! 
Perhaps,  now,  her  father  would  build,  and  they  should 
come  up  every  year.  Perhaps  Paul  would  stay  altogether, 
and  superintend.  Perhaps — anything!  It  was  all  a  de 
lightful  chaos  of  possibilities ;  with  this  thing  certain,  that 
she  and  Faith  would  be  together  for  the  next  four  months 
in  the  glorious  summer  shine  and  bloom. 

Miss  Gartney's  wedding  was  simple.  The  stateliness 
and  show  were  all  reserved  for  Madison  Square. 

Mr.  Armstrong  pronounced  the  solemn  words,  in  the 
shaded  summer  parlor,  with  the  door  open  into  the  sweeter 
and  stiller  shade  without. 

Faith  stood  by  her  sister's  side,  in  fair,  white  robes,  and 
Mr.  Robert  Selmore  was  groomsman  to  his  brother.  A  few 
^special  friends  from  Mishaumok  and  Lakeside  were  present 
to  witness  the  ceremony. 

And  then  there  was  a  kissing,  —  a  hand-shaking,  —  a 
well-wishing,  —  a  going  out  to  the  simple  but  elegantly 
arranged  collation, — a  disappearance  of  the  bride  to  put 
on  travelling  array,  —  a  carriage  at  the  door,  —  smiles, 
tears,  and  good-byes,  — Mr.,  Mrs.,  and  Mr.  Robert  Sel 
more  were  off  to  meet  the  Western  train,  —  and  all  was 
over. 

Mrs.  Etherege  remained  a  few  days  longer  at  Cross  Cor 
ners.  As  Mis'  Battis  judiciously  remarked,  "  after  a  wed- 
din'  or  a  funeral,  there  ought  to  be  somebody  to  stay  awhile 
and  cheer  up  the  mourners." 

This  visit,  that  had  been  so  full  of  happenings,  was  to 


202      FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

have  a  strange  occurrence  still  to  mark  it,  before  all  fell 
again  into  the  usual  order. 

Aunt  Etlrerege  was  to  go  on  Thursday.  On  Wednesday, 
the  three  ladies  sat  together  in  the  cool,  open  parlor,  where 
Mr.  Armstrong,  walking  over  from  the  Old  House,  had 
joined  them.  He  had  the  July  number  of  the  "  Mishau- 
mok"  in  his  hand,  and  a  finger  between  the  fresh-cut  leaves 
at  a  poem  he  would  read  them. 

Just  as  he  finished  the  last  stanza,  amid  a  hush  of  the 
room  that  paid  tribute  to  the  beauty  of  the  lines  and  his 
perfect  rendering  of  them,  wheels  came  round  from  the 
high  road  into  the  lane. 

"  It  is  Mr.  Gartney  come  back  from  Sedgely,"  said  Aunt 
Etheredge,  looking  from  her  window,  between  the  blinds. 
"Whom  on  earth  has  he  picked  up  to  bring  with  him?" 

A  thin,  angular  figure  of  a  woman,  destitute  of  crino 
line,  wearing  big  boots,  and  a  bonnet  that  ignored  the 
fashion,  and  carrying  in  her  hand  a  black  enamelled  leather 
bag,  was  alighting  as  she  spoke,  at  the  gate. 

"Mother!"  said  Faith,  leaning  forward,  and  glancing 
out,  also,  "it  looks  like  —  it  is  —  Nurse  Sampson!" 

And  she  put  her  work  hastily  from  her  lap,  and  rose  to 
go  out  at  the  side  door,  to  meet  and  welcome  her. 

To  do  this,  she  had  to  pass  by  Mr.  Armstrong.  How 
tame  that  rigid  look,  that  deadly  paleness,  to  his  face? 
What  spasms  of  pain  made  him  clutch  the  pamphlet  he  held 
with  fingers  that  grew  white  about  the  nails  ? 

Faith  stopped,  startled. 

"Mr.  Armstrong!  Ai-e  you  not  well?  said  she.  At 
the  same  instant  of  her  pausing,  Miss  Sampson  entered 
from  the  hall,  behind  her.  Mr.  Armstrong's  eye,  lifted 
toward  Faith  in  an  attempt  to  reply,  caught  a  glimpse  of 


FAITH  GAETNET'S   GIRLHOOD.      203 

the  sharp,  pronounced  outlines  of  the  nurse's  face.  Before 
Faith  could  comprehend,  or  turn,  or  cry  out,  the  paleness 
blanched  ghastlier  over  his  features,  and  the  strong  man 
fell  back,  fainting. 

With  quick,  professional  instinct,  Miss  Sampson  sprang 
forward,  seizing,  as  she  did  so,  an  ice-water  pitcher  from 
the  table. 

«'  There,  take  this ! "  said  she  to  Faith,  "  and  sprinkle  him 
with  it,  while  I  loosen  his  neck-cloth  !  —  Gracious  goodness ! " 
she  exclaimed,  in  an  altered  tone,  as  she  came  nearer  to  him 
for  this  purpose,  '•  do  it,  some  of  the  rest  of  you,  and  let  me 
get  out  of  his  way !  It  was  me ! " 

And  she  vanished  out  of  the  room. 


CHAPTER 
ROGER  ARMSTRONG'S  STORY. 

"Even  by  means  of  our  Borrows,  we  belong  to  the  Eteiial  Tlan." 

HUMBOLDT 

"  Go  in  there,"  said  Nurse  Sampson  to  Mr.  Gartney, 
calling  him  in  from  the  porch,  "  and  lay  that  man  flat  on 
the  floor ! " 

Which  Mr.  Gartney  did,  wondering,  vaguely,  in  the 
instant  required  for  his  transit  to  the  apartment,  whether 
bandit  or  lunatic  might  await  his  offices. 

All  happened  in  a  moment;  and  in  that  moment,  the 
minister's  fugitive  senses  began  to  return. 

"Lie  quiet,  a  minute.  Faith,  get  a  glass  of  wine,  or  a 
little  brandy." 

Faith  quickly  brought  both ;  and  Mr.  Armstrong,  whom 
her  father  now  assisted  to  the  arm-chair  again,  took  the 
wine  from  her  hand,  with  a  smile  that  thanked  her,  and 
deprecated  himself. 

"I  am  not  ill,"  he  said.  "It  is  all  over  now.  It  was 
the  sudden  shock.  I  did  not  think  I  could  have  been  so 
weak." 

Mrs.  Gartney  had  gone  to  find  some  hartshorn.  Mrs. 
Etherege,  seeing  that  the  need  for  it  was  passing,  went  out 
to  tell  her  sister  so,  and  to  ask  the  strange  woman  who  had 

204 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.      205 

originated  all  the  commotion,  what  it  could  possibly  mean. 
Mr.  Gartney,  at  the  same  instant,  caught  a  glimpse  of  hia 
horse,  which  he  had  left  unfastened  at  the  gate,  giving 
indications  of  restlessness,  and  hastened  out  to  tie  him,  and 
to  call  Luther,  whom  he  had  been  awaiting  when  Misa 
Sampson  hailed  him  at  the  door. 

Faith  and  Mr.  Armstrong  were  left  alone. 

"  Did  I  frighten  you,  my  child  ?  "  he  asked,  gently.  "  It 
was  a  strange  thing  to  happen !  I  thought  that  woman 
was  in  her  grave.  I  thought  she  died,  when  — .  I  will 
tell  you  all  about  it  some  day,  soon,  Miss  Faith.  It  was 
the  sad,  terrible  page  of  my  life." 

Faith's  eyes  were  lustrous  with  sympathy.  Under  all 
other  thought  was  a  beating  joy,  —  not  looked  at  yet,  — 
that  he  could  speak  to  her  so !  That  he  could  snatch  this 
chance  moment  to  tell  her,  only,  of  his  sacred  sorrow ! 

She  moved  a  half-step  nearer,  and  laid  her  hand,  softly, 
on  the  chair-arm  beside  him.  She  did  not  touch  so  much 
as  a  fold  of  his  sleeve ;  but  it  seemed,  somehow,  like  a 
pitying  caress. 

"  I  am  sorry  !"  said  she.    And  then  the  others  came  in. 

Mr.  Gartney  walked  round  with  his  friend  to  the  old 
house. 

Miss  Sampson  began  to  recount  what  she  knew  of  the 
story.  Faith  escaped  to  her  own  room  at  the  first  sen 
tence.  She  would  rather  have  it  as  Mr.  Armstrong's  con 
fidence. 

Next  morning,  Faith  was  dusting,  and  arranging  flowers 
in  the  east  parlor,  and  had  just  set  the  "  hill-side  door,"  as 
they  called  it,  open,  when  Mr.  Armstrong  passed  the  win 
dow  and  appeared  thereat. 

"  I  came  to  ask,  Miss  Faith,  if  you  would  walk  up  over 


206    FAITH  GARTNERS  GIRLHOOD. 

the  Ridge.  It  is  a  lovely  morning,  and  I  am  selfish 
enough  to  wish  to  have  you  to  myself  for  a  little  of  it. 
By-and-by,  I  would  like  to  come  back,  and  see  Miss  Samp- 
Bon  ." 

Faith  understood.  He  meant  to  tell  her  this  that  had 
been  heavy  upon  his  heart  through  all  these  years.  She 
would  go.  Directly,  when  she  had  brought  her  hat,  and 
spoken  with  her  mother. 

Mrs.  Etherege  and  Mrs.  Gartney  were  sitting  together 
in  the  guest-chamber,  above.  At  noon,  after  an  early  din 
ner,  Mrs.  Etherege  was  to  leave. 

Mr.  Armstrong  stood  upon  the  door-stone  below,  looking 
outward,  waiting.  If  he  had  been  inside  the  room,  he 
would  not  have  heard.  The  ladies,  sitting  by  the  window, 
just  over  his  head,  were  quite  unaware  and  thoughtless  of 
his  possible  position. 

He  caught  Faith's  clear,  sweet  accent  first,  as  she  an 
nounced  her  purpose  to  her  mother,  adding,  — 

"  I  shall  be  back,  auntie,  long  before  dinner." 

Then  she  crossed  the  hall  into  her  own  room,  made  hei 
slight  preparation  for  the  walk,  and  went  down  by  the 
kitchen  staircase,  to  give  Parthenia  some  last  word  about 
the  early  dinner. 

"  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Etherege,  in  the  keenness  of  her 
worldly  wisdom,  "that  this  minister  of  yours  might  as  well 
have  a  hint  of  how  matters  stand.  It  seems  to  me  he  is 
growing  to  monopolize  Faith,  rather. 

"Oh,"  replied  Mrs.  Gartney,  "  there  is  nothing  of  that! 
You  know  what  nurse  told  us,  last  evening.  It  is  n't  quite 
likely  that  a  man  would  faint  away  at  the  memory  of  one 
woman,  if  his  thoughts  were  turned,  the  least,  in  that  way, 
Upon  another.  No,  indeed!  She  is  his  Sunday  scholar. 


FAITH  GAHTNETS   GIRLHOOD.      207 

ani  he  treats  her  always  as  a  very  dear  young  friend.    But 
that  is  all." 

"Maybe.  But  is  it  quite  safe  fov  her?  He  is  a  young 
man  yet,  notwithstanding  those  few  gray  hairs." 

«« Oh,  Faith  has  tacitly  belonged  to  Paul  Rushleigh  these 
three  years ! " 

Mr.  Armstrong  heard  it  all.  He  turned  the  next  moment, 
and  met  his  "  dear  young  friend  "  with  the  same  gentle  smile 
and  manner  that  he  always  wore  toward  her,  and  they  walked 
up  the  Ridge-path,  among  the  trees  together. 

No  landscape  gardener  could  have  planned  so  beautiful 
an  illusion  as  Nature  had  made  here  behind  the  house  at 
Cross  Corners. 

This  natural  ridge, — that  sloped  up  from  the  lane  in  a 
bank  along  one  side,  and  on  the  other  sunk  down  into  a 
hollow,  beyond  which  were  the  cornfields  and  potato- 
patches,  —  crowned  and  clad  with  wild  shrubbery  and  trees, 
ended  like  a  sloping  promontory  that  melted  down  into  the 
level,  scarcely  a  rod  beyond  the  "  hill-side  door." 

Over  the  cool,  grassy  path,  —  up  among  the  lilacs  and 
evergreens,  and  barberries,  —  until  they  were  shut  in  upon 
the  crest,  by  the  verdure  and  the  blue,  — they  kept  on,  in 
a  silence  wherein  their  spirits  felt  each  other,  and  could 
wait  for  words. 

A  boulder  of  rock,  scooped  into  smooth  hollows  that 
made  pleasant  seats,  was  the  goal,  usually,  of  the  Ridge- 
walk.  Here  Faith  paused,  and  Mr.  Armstrong  made  her 
sit  down  and  rest. 

Standing  there  before  her,  he  began  his  story. 

"One  summer, — years  ago," — he  said,  "I  went  to  the 
?ity  of  New  Orleans.  I  went  to  bring  thence,  with  me,  a 
»ear  friend —  her  who  was  to  have  been  my  wife." 


208      FAITH  GARTNERS  GIRLHOOD. 

The  deep  voice  trembled,  and  paused.  Faith  could  not 
look  up,  her  breath  came  quickly,  and  the  tears  were  all 
but  ready. 

"  She  had  been  there,  through  the  winter  and  spring, 
with  her  father,  who,  save  myself,  was  the  only  near  friend 
she  had  in  all  the  world. 

"  The  business  which  took  him  there  detained  him  until 
later  in  the  season  than  Northerners  are  accustomed  to  feel 
safe  in  staying.  And  still,  important  affairs  hindered  his 
departure. 

"He  wrote  to  me,  that,  for  himself,  he  must  risk  a  resi 
dence  there  for  some  weeks  yet;  but  that  his  daughter 
must  be  placed  in  safety.  There  was  every  indication  of  a 
sickly  summer.  She  knew  nothing  of  his  writing,  and  he 
feared  would  hardly  consent  to  leave  him.  But,  if  I  came, 
she  would  yield  to  me.  Our  marriage  might  take  place 
there,  and  I  could  bring  her  home.  Without  her,  he  said, 
he  could  more  quickly  despatch  what  remained  for  him  to 
do ;  and  I  must  persuade  her  of  this,  and  that  it  was  for 
the  safety  of  all  that  she  should  so  fulfil  the  promise  which 
was  to  have  been  at  this  time  redeemed,  had  their  earlier 
return  been  possible. 

"  In  the  New  Orleans  papers  that  came  by  the  same 
mail,  were  paragraphs  of  deadly  significance.  The  veiy 
cautiousness  with  which  they  were  worded  weighted  them 
the  more. 

"Miss  Faith!  my  friend!"  —  and,  as  Roger  Armstrong 
spoke,  the  strong  right  hand  clutched,  with  a  nervous 
grasp  of  pain,  the  bole  of  a  young  tree  by  which  he  stood, 
—  "in  that  city  of  pestilence,  was  my  life!  Night  and 
day  I  journeyed,  till  I  reached  the  place.  I  found  the  ad 
dress  which  had  been  sent  me,  — there  were  only  strangers 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.      209 

there !  Mr.  Waldo  had  been,  but  the  very  day  before, 
seized  with  the  fatal  endemic,  and  removed  to  a  fever- 
hospital.  Miriam  had  refused  to  leave  him,  and  had  gone 
with  him,  —  into  plague  and  death  ! 

"Was  I  wrong,  child?     Could  I  have  helped  it?   ^1  fol 
lowed.     Ah  !  God  lets  strange  woes,  most  fearful  horrors, 
into  this  world  of  His !     I  cannot  tell  you,  if  I  would,  what 
I  saw  there  !    Pestilence  —  death  —  corruption  ! 

"In  the  midst  of  all,  among  the  gentle  sisters  of  chanty, 
I  found  a  New  England  woman,  —  a  nurse, —  her  whom  1 
met  yesterday.  She  came  to  me  on  my  inquiry  for  Mr. 
Waldo.  He  was  dead.  Miriam  had  already  sickened, — 
was  past  hope.  I  could  not  see  her.  It  was  against  the 
rule.  She  would  not  know  me. 

"  I  only  remember  that  I  refused  to  be  sent  away.  I 
think  my  brain  reeled  with  the  weariness  of  sleepless  nights 
and  the  horror  of  the  shock. 

"  I  cannot  dwell  upon  the  story.  It  was  ended  quickly, 
When  I  struggled  back,  painfully,  to  life,  from  the  disease 
that  struck  me,  too,  down,  there  were  strange  faces  round 
me,  and  none  could  even  tell  me  of  her  last  hours.  The 
nurse,  —  Miss  Sampson,  —  had  been  smitten  —  was  dying. 

"  They  sent  me  to  a  hospital  for  convalescents.  Weeks 
after,  I  came  out.  feeble  and  hopeless,  into  my  lonely  life ! 

"  Since  then,  God,  who  had  taken  from  me  the  object  I 
had  set  for  myself,  has  filled  its  room  with  His  own  work. 
And,  doing  it,  He  has  not  denied  me  to  find  many  a  chas 
tened  joy. 

"  Dear,  young  friend  !  "  said  he,  with  a  tender,  lingering 
emphasis,  —  it  was  all  he  could  say  then,  —  all  they  had 
left  him  to  say,  if  he  would,  —  "I  have  told  you  this, 
oecause  you  have  come  nearer  into  my  sympathies  than  any 


210      FAITH  GARTNERS  GIRLHOOD. 

in  all  those  years  that  have  been  ray  years  of  strangerhood 
and  sorrow !  You  have  made  me  think,  in  your  fresh,  maid 
enly  life,  and  your  soul-earnestness,  of  Miriam ! 

"  When  your  way  broadens  out  into  busy  sunshine,  and 
mine  lies  otherwhere,  do  not  forget  rne  !  " 

A  solemn  baptism  of  mingled  grief  and  joy  seemed  to 
touch  the  soul  of  Faith.  One  hand  covered  her  face,  that 
was  bowed  down,  weeping.  The  other  lay  in  her  compan 
ion's,  who  had  taken  it  as  he  uttered  these  last  words.  So 
it  rested  a  moment,  and  then  its  fellow  came  to  it,  and,  be 
tween  the  two,  held  Roger  Armstrong's  reverently,  while  the 
fair,  tearful  face  lifted  itself  to  his. 

"  I  do  thank  you  so !  "    And  that  was  all. 

Faith  was  his  '•'  dear  young  friend  !  "  How  the  words  in 
which  her  mother  limited  his  thoughts  of  her  to  common 
place,  widened,  when  she  spoke  them  to  herself,  into  a  great 
beatitude  !  She  never  thought  of  more,  —  scarcely  whether 
more  could  be.  This  great,  noble,  purified,  God-loving 
soul  that  stood  between  her  and  heaven,  like  the  mountain- 
peak,  bathing  its  head  in  clouds,  and  drawing  lightnings 
down,  leaned  over  her,  and  blessed  her  thus ! 

He  had  even  likened  her  to  Miriam.  He  had  made  her 
nearest,  next  to  her.  However  their  differing  paths  might 
lie,  he  had  begged  her  to  remember  him.  What  could 
happen  to  her  that  should  take  away  this  joy  ?  She  was 
strong  for  all  life,  all  duty,  henceforth. 

She  never  suspected  her  own  heart,  even  when  the  re 
membrance  of  Paul  came  up  and  took  a  tenderness  from  the 
thought  how  he,  too,  might  love,  and  learn  from,  this  her 
friend.  She  turned  back  with  a  new  gentleness  to  all  other 
love,  as  one  does  from  a  prayer ! 


CHAPTER 

QUESTION  AND  ANSWER. 

"Unless  you  can  swear,  '  For  life,  for  death  ' 
Oh,  fear  to  call  it  loving  I  " 

MRS.  Bncwrmio. 

FAITH  sent  Nurse  Sampson  in  to  talk  with  Mr.  Arm 
strong.    Then  he  learned  all  that  he  had  longed  to  know, 
but  had  never  known  before ;  that  which  took  him  to  his 
lost  bride's  death-bed,  and  awoke  out  of  the  silent  years 
for  him  a  moment  refused  to  him  in  its  passing. 

Miss  Sampson  came  from  her  hour's  interview,  with  an 
unbending  of  the  hard  lines  of  her  face,  and  a  softness, 
even,  in  her  eyes,  that  told  of  tears. 

"  If  ever  there  was  an  angel  that  went  walking  about  in 
black  broadcloth,  that  man  is  the  one,''  said  she. 

And  that  was  all  she  would  say. 

"I'm  staying,"  she  exclaimed,  in  answer  to  their  enqui 
ries,  "  with  a  half-sister  of  mine  at  Sedgely.  Mrs.  Crabe, 
the  blacksmith's  wife.  You  see,  I'd  got  run  down,  and  had 
to  take  a  rest.  Resting  is  as  much  a  part  of  work  as  doing, 
when  it's  necessary.  I  had  a  chance  to  go  to  Europe  with 
an  invaleed  lady ;  but  I  allers  hate  such  half-way  contriv 
ances.  I  either  want  to  work  with  all  my  might,  or  be  lazy 
with  all  my  might.  And  so  I've  come  here  to  do  nothing, 

as  hard  as  ever  I  can." 

211 


FAITH  GAB  TREY'S  GIRLHOOD. 


"I  know  well  enough,"  she  said  again,  afterward,  "  that 
something's  being  cut  out  for  me,  tougher  'n  anything  I've 
had  yet.  I  never  had  an  hour's  extra  rest  in  my  life,  but 
I  found  out,  precious  soon,  what  it  had  been  sent  for.  I'm 
going  to  stay  on  all  summer,  as  the  doctor  told  me  to  ;  but 
I'm  getting  strong,  already;  and  I  shall  be  just  like  a 
tiger  before  the  year's  out.  And  then  it'll  come,  whatever 
it  is.  You  '11  see." 

Miss  Sampson  staid  until  the  next  day  after,  and  then 
Mr.  Gartney  drove  her  back  to  Sedgely. 

In  those  days  it  came  to  pass  that  Glory  found  she  had  a 
"  follower." 

Luther  Goodell,  who  "  did  round  "  at  Cross  Corners,  got 
so  into  the  way  of  straying  up  the  field-path  in  his  noon 
ing  hours,  and  after  chores  were  done  at  night,  that  Miss 
Henderson  at  last,  in  her  plain,  outright  fashion,  took  the 
subject  up,  and  questioned  Glory. 

"If  it  means  anything,  and  you  mean  it  shall  mean  any 
thing,  well  and  good.  I  shall  put  up  with  it;  though  what 
anybody  wants  with  men-folks  cluttering  round,  is  more 
than  I  can  understand.  But,  if  you  don't  want  him,  he 
shan't  come.  So  tell  me  the  truth,  child.  Yes,  or  no.  Have 
you  any  notion  of  him  for  a  husband  ?  " 

Glory  blushed  her  brightest  at  these  words;  but  there 
was  no  falling  of  the  eye,  or  faltering  of  the  voice,  as  she 
spoke  with  answering  straightforwardness  and  simplicity. 

"  No  ma'am.     I  don  't  think  I  shall  ever  have  a  husband." 

"No  ma'am's  enough.  The  rest  you  don't  know  any 
thing  about.  Most  likely  you  will." 

"  I  should  n't  want  anybody,  ma'am,  that  would  be  likely 
to  want  me." 

And  Glory  walked  out  into  the  milk-room  with  the  pant 
«hc  had  been  scalding:. 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.      213 

It  was  true.  This  woman-child  would  go  all  through  life 
as  she  had  begun  ;  discerning  always,  and  reaching  spiriiu- 
ally  after,  that  which  was  beyond ;  which  in  that  "  kingdom 
of  heaven  "  was  hers  afready ;  but  which  to  earthly  having 
and  holding  should  never  corne. 

God  puts  such  souls  oftener  than  we  think,  into  such  life. 
These  are  His  vestals. 

Miss  Henderson's  foot  had  not  grown  perfectly  strong. 
She,  herself,  said,  coolly,  that  she  never  expected  it  to.  More 
than  that,  she  supposed,  now  she  had  begun,  she  should 
keep  on  going  to  pieces. 

"An  old  life,"  she  said,  "is  just  like  old  cloth  when  ifc 
begins  to  tear.  It'll  soon  go  into  the  rag-bag,  and  then  to 
the  mill  that  grinds  all  up,  and  brings  us  out  new  and  white 
again ! " 

"  Glory  McWhirk,"  said  she,  on  another  day  after,  "  if 
you  could  do  just  the  thing  you  would  like  best  to  do,  what 
would  it  be  ?  " 

"  To-day,  ma'am  ?  or  any  time  ?  "  asked  Glory,  puzzled  as 
to  how  much  her  mistress's  question  included. 

"Ever.  If  you  had  a  home  to  live  in,  say,  and  money  to 
spend  ?  " 

Glory  had  to  wait  a  moment  before  she  could  so  grasp 
such  an  extraordinary  hypothesis  as  to  reply. 

"Well?"  said  Miss  Henderson,  with  slight  impa 
tience. 

"If  I  had,  —  I  should  like  best  to  find  some  little  chil 
dren  without  any  fathers  or  mothers,  as  I  was,  and  dress 
them  up,  as  you  did  me,  and  curl  their  hair,  and  make  a 
real  good  time  for  them,  every  day  ! " 

"You  would!  Well,  that's  all.  I  was  curious  to  know 
what  you  'd  say.  I  guess  those  beans  in  the  oven  want 
more  hot  water." 


2U      FAITH  GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

The  Rushleighs  had  come  to  Lakeside.  Every  day,  nearly, 
saw  Paul,  or  Margaret,  or  both,  at  Cross  Corners. 

Faith  led  them  through  her  beautiful  wood-walks ;  they 
strolled  away  for  whole  mornings,  and  made  little  picnics; 
not  deigning  to  come  back  to  damask  table-cloths  and  reg 
ular  dinners ;  Paul  read  them  beautiful  poems,  and  whole 
chapters  out  of  new  and  charming  books,  and  sang  wild 
ballads,  and  climbed  impossible  places  to  get  Faith  all  the 
farthest  off  and  fairest  wild  flowers. 

Faith  was  often,  also,  at  Lakeside. 

Old  Mr.  Rushleigh  treated  her  with  a  benignant  fatherli- 
ness  and  looked  upon  her  with  an  evident  fondness  and 
pride  that  threw  heavy  weight  in  the  scale  of  his  son's 
chances.  And  Madam  Rushleigh,  as  she  began  to  be 
called,  since  Mrs.  Philip  had  entered  the  family,  petted 
her  in  the  old,  graceful,  gracious  fashion ;  and  Margaret 
loved  her,  simply,  and  from  her  heart. 

There  was  nothing  she  could  break  away  from,  if  she 
bad  wished ;  there  was  everything  that  bound  and  multi 
plied  the  fine,  invisible  network  about  her  fancy  and  her 
will. 

With  Paul  himself  it  had  not  been  as  in  the  days  of 
bouquets,  and  "  Germans,"  and  bridal  association  in  Mish- 
aumok.  They  were  all  living  and  enjoying  together  a 
beautiful  idyl.  Nothing  seemed  special, — nothing  was 
embarrassing. 

Faith  thought,  in  these  days,  that  she  was  very  happy. 

Mi.  Armstrong  relinquished  her,  almost  imperceptibly, 
to  htt  younger  friends.  In  the  pleasant  twilights,  though, 
when  lit_r  day's  pleasures  and  occupations  were  ended,  he 
would  Oxi^n  come  over,  as  of  old,  and  sit  with  them  in  the 
summer  parlor  or  under  the  elms. 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.      215 

Or  Faith  would  go  up  the  beautiful  Ridge-walk  with 
him ;  and  he  would  have  a  thought  for  her  that  was  higher 
than  any  she  could  reach,  by  herself,  or  with  the  help  of 
any  other  human  soul. 

And  so, — her  best  nature  fed,  —  no  want  left  craving 
and  unfilled,  —  she  hardly  knew  what  it  was  that  made 
her  so  utterly  content ;  but  the  brightness  of  her  life,  like 
that  of  day,  seemed  to  come  from  all  around,  overflowing 
upon  her  from  the  whole  illumined  world. 

And  the  minister?  How  did  his  world  look  to  him? 
Perhaps,  as  if  clouds  that  had  parted,  sending  a  sunbeam 
across  from  the  west  upon  the  dark  sorrow  of  the  morning, 
had  shut  again,  inexorably,  leaving  him  still  to  tread  the 
nightward  path  under  the  old,  leaden  sky. 

A  day  came,  that  set  him  thinking  of  all  this  —  of  th& 
years  that  were  past,  of  those  that  might  be  to  come. 

Mr.  Armstrong  was  not  quite  so  old  as  he  had  been  rep 
resented.  A  man  cannot  go  through  plague  and  anguish, 
as  he  had  done,  and  "  keep,"  as  Nurse  Sampson  had  said, 
long  ago,  of  women,  "the  baby  face  on."  There  were 
lines  about  brow  and  mouth,  and  gleams  in  the  hair,  that 
seldom  come  so  early. 

This  day  he  completed  one-and-thirty  years. 

The  same  day,  last  month,  had  been  Faith's  birthday. 
She  was  nineteen. 

Roger  Armstrong  thought  of  the  two  together. 

He  thought  of  these  twelve  years  that  lay  between  them. 
Of  the  love,  —  the  loss^ — the  stern  and  bitter  struggle, — 
the  divine  amends  and  holj  hope  that  they  had  brought  to 
him  ;  and  then  of  the  innocent  girl-life  she  had  been  living 
in  them  ;  then,  how  the  two  paths  had  met  so,  in  these  last 
few,  beautiful  months. 


216      FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

Whither,  and  how  far  apart,  trended  they  now? 

He  could  not  see.  He  waited, — leaving  the  end  with 
God. 

A  few  weeks  went  by,  in  this  careless,  holiday  fashion 
with  Faith  and  her  friends ;  and  then  came  the  hour  when 
she  must  face  the  truth  for  herself  and  for  another,  auc1 
speak  the  word  of  destiny  for  both. 

She  had  made  a  promise  for  a  drive  around  the  Pond 
Koad.  Margaret  and  her  brother  were  to  come  for  her,  and 
to  return  to  Cross  Corners  for  tea. 

At  the  hour  fixed,  she  sat,  waiting,  under  the  elms,  hat 
and  mantle  on,  and  whiling  the  moments  of  delay  with  a 
new  book  Mr.  Armstrong  had  lent  her. 

Presently,  the  Rushleighs'  light,  open,  single-seated  wagon 
drove  up. 

Paul  had  come  alone. 

Margaret  had  a  headache,  but  thought  that  after  sun 
down  she  might  feel  better,  and  begged  that  Faith  would 
reverse  the  plan  agreed  upon,  and  let  Paul  bring  her  home 
to  tea  with  them. 

Paul  took  for  granted  that  Faith  would  keep  to  her  en 
gagement  with  himself.  It  was  difficult  to  refuse.  She 
was  ready,  waiting.  It  would  be  absurd  to  draw  back, 
sensitively,  now,  she  thought.  Besides,  it  would  be  very 
pleasant ;  and  why  should  she  be  afraid  ?  Yet  she  wished, 
very  regretfully,  that  Margaret  were  there. 

She  shrank  from  Ute-ct-Utes,  —  from  anything  that  might 
help  to  precipitate  a  moment  sh,e  felt  herself  not  quite  ready 
for. 

She  supposed  she  did  care  for  Paul  Rushleigh  as  most 
girls  cared  for  lovers;  that  she  had  given  him  reason  to 
expect  she  should;  she  felt,  instinctively,  whither  all  this 


FAITH  GARTNET'S  GIRLHOOD.      217 

pleased  acquiescence  of  father  and  mother,  and  this  warm 
welcome  and  encouragement  at  Lakeside,  tended  ;  and  she 
had  a  dim  prescience  of  what  must,  some  time,  come  of  it : 
but  that  was  all  in  the  far-off  by-and-by.  She  would  not 
look  at  it  yet.  She  was  quite  happy  and  content  in  this 
bright  summer-life  of  the  present.  Why  should  people 
want  to  hurry  her  on  to  more  ? 

There  is  much  that  is  apparently  inconsistent  in  the  vary 
ing  moods  of  young  girls,  to  whom  their  own  wishes  are,  as 
yet,  a  mystery. 

If  Faith  felt,  ordinarily,  a  blithe  content,  there  were  mo 
ments,  nevertheless,  when  she  was  afraid 

She  was  afraid,  now,  as  she  let  Paul  help  her  into  the 
wagon,  and  take  his  place  at  her  side. 

She  had  been  frightened  by  a  word  of  her  mother's,  when 
she  had  gone  to  her,  before  leaving,  to  tell  how  the  plan 
had  been  altered,  and  ask  if  she  had  better  do  as  was  wished 
of  her. 

Mrs.  Gartney  had  assented  with  a  smile,  and  a  "  Cer 
tainly,  if  you  like  it,  Faith ;  indeed,  I  don't  see  how  you 
can  very  well  help  it;  only  —  " 

"  Only  what,  mother?  "  asked  Faith,  a  little  fearfully. 

"Nothing,  dear,"  answered  her  mother,  turning  to  her 
with  a  little  caress.  But  she  had  a  look  in  her  eyes  that 
mothers  wear  when  they  begin  to  see  their  last  woman's 
sacrifice  demand  itself  at  their  hands. 

"  Go,  darling.    Paul  is  waiting." 

It  was  like  giving  her  away. 

So  they  drove  down,  through  by-ways,  among  the  lanes, 
toward  the  Wachaug  road. 

Summer  was  in  her  perfect  flush  and  fulness  of  spen- 
dor  The  smell  of  new-mown  hay  was  in  the  air. 


218      FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

As  they  came  upon  the  river,  they  saw  the  workmen  busy 
in  and  about  the  new  mills.  Mr.  Rushleigh's  buggy  stood 
by  the  fence  ;  and  he  was  there,  among  his  mechanics,  with 
his  straw  hat  and  seer-sucker  coat  on,  inspecting  and  giving 
orders. 

"What  a  capital  old  fellow  the  governor  is ! "  said  Paul, 
in  the  fashion  young  men  use,  now-a-days,  to  utter  their 
affections. 

"Do  you  know  he  means  to  set  me  up  in  these  mills  he 
is  making  such  a  hobby  of,  and  give  me  half  the  profits?11 

Faith  had  not  known.     She  thought  him  very  good. 

"Yes;  he  would  do  anything,  I  believe,  for  me,  —  or 
anybody  I  cared  for." 

Faith  was  silent;  and  the  strange  fear  came  up  in  heart 
and  throat. 

"  I  like  Kinnicutt,  thoroughly." 

"  Yes,"  said  Faith.     "  It  is  very  beautiful  here." 

"  Not  only  that.  I  like  the  people.  I  like  their  simple 
fashions.  One  gets  at  human  life  and  human  nature  here. 
)  don't  think  I  was  ever,  at  heart,  a  city  boy.  I  don't  like 
living  at  arm's-length  from  everybody.  People  come  close 
together,  in  the  country.  And  —  Faith!  what  a  minister 
you  Ve  got  here  !  What  a  sermon  that  was  he  preached 
last  Sunday  !  I  've  never  been  what  you  might  call  one  of 
the  serious  sort ;  but  such  a  sermon  as  that  must  do  anybody 
good." 

Faith  felt  a  warmth  toward  Paul  as  he  said  this,  which 
was  more  a  drawing  of  the  heart  than  he  had  gained  from 
her  by  all  the  rest. 

"  My  father  says  he  will  keep  him  here,  if  money  can  do 
it.  He  never  goes  to  church  at  Lakeside,  now.  It  needs 
just  such  a  man  among  mill-villages  like  these,  he  says 


FAITH  GAETNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.      219 

My  lather  thinks  a  great  deal  of  his  work-people.  He  says 
nobody  ought  to  bring  families  together,  and  build  up  a 
neighborhood,  as  a  manufacturer  does,  and  not  look  out  foi 
more  than  the  money.  J  think  he  '11  expect  a  great  deal  of 
me,  if  he  leaves  me  here,  at  the  head  of  it  all.  More  than 
I  can  ever  do,  by  myself." 

"  Mr.  Armstrong  will  be  the  very  best  help  to  you,"  said 
Faith.  "I  think  lie  means  to  stay.  I'm  sure  Kinnicutt 
would  seem  nothing  without  him  now." 

They  were  in  the  Pond  Road.  At  this  moment,  they 
were  passing  a  bend,  where  a  great  elm  leaned  over  from 
the  wood-side,  and  on  the  bank,  opposite,  lay  a  mossy  log. 
Here  some  child  had  sat  down  to  rest,  and  left  a  handful 
of  wild  flowers,  that  were  fading  there. 

Faith  carried,  through  all  her  life,  a  daguerreotype  of 
tin's  little  scene,  to  its  minutest  detail,  flashed  upon  her 
soul  by  these  next  words  that  were  spoken,  as  they  passed 
slowly  by. 

"  Faith  !-   Will  you  help  me  to  make  a  home  here  ?  " 

She  could  not  speak.  A  great  shock  had  fallen  upon 
her  whole  nature,  as  if  a  thunder-bolt  she  had  had  presenti 
ment  of,  burst,  warniugless,  from  a  clear  blue  sky. 

They  drove  on  for  minutes,  without  another  word. 

"Faith  !  You  don't  answer  me.  Must  I  take  silence  as 
1  please  ?  It  can't  be  that  you  don't  care  for  me  ! " 

"No,  no!"  cried  Faith,  desperately,  like  one  struggling 
for  voice  through  a  nightmare.  "  I  do  care.  But  —  Paul! 
1  don't  know  !  I  can't  tell.  Let  me  wait,  please.  Let  me 
think." 

"As  long  as  you  like,  darling,"  said  he,  gently  and  ten 
derly.  "You  know  all  I  can  tell  you.  You  know  I  have 
cared  for  you  all  my  life.  And  I'll  wait  now  till  you  tell 


220      FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

me  I  may  speak  again.  Till  you  put  on  that  little  ring  of 
mine,  Faith ! " 

There  was  a  little  loving  reproach  in  these  last  words. 

"  Please  take  me  home,  now,  Paul ! " 

They  were  close  upon  the  return  path  around  the  Lake. 
A  look  of  disappointed  pain  passed  over  Paul  Rushleigh's 
features.  This  was  hardly  the  happy  reception,  however 
shy,  he  had  hoped  and  looked  for.  Still  he  hoped,  however. 
He  could  not  think  she  did  not  care  for  him.  She,  who  had 
been  the  spring  of  his  own  thoughts  and  purposes  for  years. 
But,  obedient  to  her  wish,  he  touched  his  horse  with  the 
lash,  and  urged  him  homeward. 

How  many  minutes,  how  many  miles,  they  might  have 
counted,  as  they  sat  side  by  side,  in  that  intense  conscious 
ness  that  was  speechless,  neither  thought. 

Paul  helped  her  from  the  wagon  at  the  little  white  gate 
at  Cross  Corners,  and  then  they  both  remembered  that  she 
was  to  have  gone  to  Lakeside  to  tea. 

"  What  shall  I  tell  Margaret?  "  he  asked. 

"Oh,  don't  tell  her  anything!  I  mean  —  tell  her,  I 
couldn't  come  to-night.  And,  Paul  —  forgive  me!  I  do 
Want  so  to  do  what  is  right !  " 

"  Is  n't  it  right  to  let  me  try  and  make  you  happy  all 
vour  life  ?  " 

A  light  had  broken  upon  her,  —  confusedly,  it  is  true,  — 
yet  that  began  to  show  her  to  herself  more  plainly  than  any 
glimpse  she  had  had  before,  as  Paul's  words,  simple,  yet 
burning  with  his  strong  sure  love,  came  to  her,  with  their 
claim  to  honest  answer. 

She  saw  what  it  was  he  brought  her;  she  felt  it  was  less 
she  had  to  give  him  back.  There  was  something  in  the 
world  she  might  go  missing  all  the  way  through  life,  if  she 


FAITH  O  ART  NET'S   GIRLHOOD.      221 

took  this  lot  that  lay  before  her  now.  Would  he  not  miss  a 
something  in  her,  also?  Yet,  must  she  needs  insist  on  the 
greatest,  the  rarest,  that  God  ever  sends?  Why  should  she, 
more  than  others  ?  Would  she  wrong  him  more,  to  gh  e  him 
what  she  could,  or  to  refuse  him  all  ? 

"I  ought — if  I  do — "  she  said,  tremulously,  "to  care 
as  you  do ! " 

"  You  never  can,  Faith ! "  cried  the  young  man,  impetu 
ously.  "  I  care  as  a  man  cares !  Let  me  love  you !  care  a 
little  for  me,  and  let  it  grow  to  more  ! " 

Men,  till  something  is  accorded,  are  willing  to  take  so 
little !  And  then,  straightway,  the  little  must  become  so 
entire ! 

"Well,  I  declare !"  exclaimed  Mis'  Battis,  as  Faith  came 
in.  "  Who  'd  a  thought  o'  seeing  you  home  to  tea !  I  spose 
you  aint  had  none  ?  " 

The  fire  was  down,  —  the  kitchen  stove  immaculate  in 
blackness  from  fresh  polish,  and  the  relict  sat  in  her  wooden 
rocking-chair  opposite  the  door  that  stood  open  into  the 
sitting-room,  with  her  knitting  in  her  hands,  working  at  it, 
dreamily,  in  the  twilight. 

"Yes  —  no.  That  is,  I  don't  want  any.  Where  is  my 
mother?" 

"  She  and  your  pa 's  gone  down  to  Dr.  Wasgatt's.  I  knew 
'twould  be  contrary  to  the  thirty-nine  articles  that  they 
should  get  away  from  there  without  their  suppers,  and  so  J 
•et  the  fire  right  down,  and  blacked  the  stove." 

"Never  mind,"  said  Faith,  abstractedly.  "I  don't  feeJ 
hungry."  And  she  went  away,  up  stairs. 

"  'M!"  said  Mis'  Battis,  significantly,  to  herself,  running 
a  released  knitting-needle  through  her  hair,  "  Don't  tell  me ! 
I  've  ben  through  the  mill  J " 


222      FAITH  GARTNEYyS  GIRLHOOD. 

Half-an-hour  after,  she  came  up  to  Faith's  door. 

"  The  minister's  down  stairs,"  said  she,  "Hope  to  good 
ness  he 's  had  his  supper !  " 

"Oh,  if  I  dared!"  thought  Faith;  and  her  heart  throb 
bed  tumultuously.  "  Why  can't  there  be  somebody  to  tell 
me  what  I  ought  to  do  ?  " 

If  she  had  dared,  how  she  could  have  leaned  upon  this 
friend !  How  she  could  have  trusted  her  conscience  and  her 
fate  to  his  decision  ! 

And  still  the  light  that  lighted  her  to  herself  was  but  a 
glimmer ! 

There  was  a  moment  when  a  word  was  almost  on  her  lips, 
that  might  have  changed,  who  knows  ?  so  much  that  was  to 
come  after ! 

"Does  anything  trouble  you  to-night,  Miss  Faith?" 
asked  Mr.  Armstrong,  watching  her  sad,  abstracted  look  in 
one  of  the  silent  pauses  that  broke  their  attempts  at  conver 
sation.  "  Are  you  ill,  or  tired?  " 

"  Oh,  no ! "  answered  Faith,  quickly,  from  the  surface,  as 
one  often  does  when  thoughts  lie  deep.  "  I  am  quite  well. 
Only — I  am  sometimes  puzzled." 

"  About  what  is  ?    Or  about  what  ought  to  be  ?  " 

"About  doing.  So  much  depends.  I  get  so  tired  — 
feeling  how  responsible  everything  makes  me.  I  wish  I 
were  a  little  child  again !  Or  that  somebody  would  just  take 
me  and  tell  me  where  to  go,  and  where  to  stay,  and  what  tc 
do,  and  what  not.  From  minute  to  minute,  as  the  things 
come  up." 

Roger  Armstrong,  with  his  great,  chastened  soul,  yearned 
over  the  child  as  she  spoke  ;  so  gladly  he  would  have  taken 
her,  at  that  moment,  to  his  heart,  and  bid  her  lean  on  him 
for  all  that  man  might  give  of  help,  —  of  love,  of  leading 


FAITH  GAKTNEY'S  GIRLIIOOD.      223 

if  she  had  told  him,  in  that  moment,  all  her  doubt,  aa 
tor  the  instant  of  his  pause  she  caught  her  breath  with 
swelling  impulse  to  do  ! 

"  '  A  nd  they  shall  all  be  led  of  God ; ' "  said  the  minister. 
"  It  is  only  to  be  willing  to  take  His  way  rather  than  one  s 
own.  All  this  that  seems  to  depend  painfully  upon  one's 
self,  depends,  then,  upon  Him.  The  act  is  human  —  the 
consequences  become  Divine." 

Faith  was  silenced  then.  There  was  no  appeal  to  human 
help  from  that.  Her  impulse  throbbed  itself  away  into  a 
lonely  passiveness  again. 

There  was  a  distance  between  these  two  that  neither  dared 
to  pass. 

A  word  was  spoken  between  mother  and  daughter  as  they 
parted  for  the  night. 

"  Mother !    I  have  such  a  thing  to  think  of,  —  to  decide  !  " 

It  was  whispered  low,  and  with  cheek  hidden  on  her 
mother's  neck,  as  the  good-night  kiss  was  taken. 

"  Decide  for  your  own  happiness,  Faithie.  We  have  seen 
and  understood  for  a  long  time.  If  it  is  to  be  as  we  think, 
nothing  could  give  us  a  greater  joy  for  you." 

Ah !  how  much  had  father  and  mother  seen  and  under 
stood  ? 

The  daughter  went  her  way,  to  wage  her  own  battle  in 
secret;  to  balance  and  fix  her  decision  between  her  own 
Heart  and  God.  So  we  find  ourselves  left,  at  the  last,  in  all 
vbe  great  crises  of  our  life. 

Late  that  night,  while  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gartney  were  felici- 
Jating  each  other,  cheerily,  upon  the  great  good  that  had 
fallen  to  the  lot  of  their  cherished  child,  that  child  sat  by 
her  open  window,  looking  out  into  the  summer  night  the 
tossing  elm-boughs  whispering  weird  syllables  in  her  ears. 


224      FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

and  the  stars  looking  clown  upon  her  soul-struggle,  so  silent 
ly,  from  so  far ! 

"  He  bad  cared  for  her  all  his  life."  And  who  had  been 
to  her,  in  the  happy  years  of  the  unthinking  past,  what  he 
had  been  ?  Had  she  a  right  to  do  other  than  to  go  on  in  this, 
seemingly,  her  appointed  path  of  life  ?  Was  not  this  the 
"  high  and  holy  work  of  love  "  that  next  awaited  her  ?  For 
father  and  mother  she  had  done,  in  her  girlish  sacrifice  and 
effort,  what  she  could.  Now,  did  not  a  greater  work  rise 
before  her  for  others  ?  and  no  less,  at  the  same  time,  per 
haps,  for  them  ? 

To  take  anxiety  from  them,  —  to  gratify  what  she  per 
ceived  to  have  been  a  cherished  wish  and  hope  of  theirs  for 
her,  —  to  leave  them  without  care,  save  for  the  little  brother 
for  whom  they  would  wish  to  do  so  much,  and  for  whom 
they  could  do  so  much  better  when  their  cares  for  her  were 
ended?" 

And  then,  to  help  Paul,  as  he  had  asked  her,  to  make  a 
home  here.  To  build  up  about  them  all  things  beautiful 
p,nd  true.  Influence,  —  and  all  good  that  comes  of  influence 
and  opportunity.  To  keep  near  them  the  lofty  council  they 
both  would  love,  —  to  be  guided  by  it,  —  to  carry  it  out, 
—  to  live  so  in  a  pure  and  blessed  friendship,  that  should 
exalt  them  both.  What  might  not  God  will  that  she  should 
be  to  Paul,  —  that  each  should  be  to  the  other? 

Or,  to  cast  down  utterly  all  these  hopes  of  father,  mother, 
and  lover,  — to  dash  aside  the  opportunity  set  in  her  way. 
recklessly,  —  impiously,  it  might  be  !  To  carry,  all  her  lite, 
a  burden  upon  her  heart  and  soul,  the  anguish  she  had  laid  on 
one  who  loved  her ! 

And  all,  because,  caring  for  him  as  she  surely  did,  she 
had  a  doubt  as  to  whether  she  might  quite  care  as  he  did, 
-  as  it  was  possible  for  her  to  care ! 


FAITH  GABTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.      225 

He  had  said  she  could  not  feel  as  he.  That  he  felt  as  a 
man.  Perhaps  it  was  so.  That  a  woman's  love  must  needs 
be  different. 

Woman's  necessity  is  to  lose  herself — to  give  herself 
away.  If  she  be  hindered  from  doing  this,  in  the  sweet  and 
utter  forgetfulness  of  a  noble  and  unthwarted  affection,  her 
next  impulse  is  to  self-sacrifice. 

There  are  nuns ;  there  are  nurses  like  Mehitable  Samp 
son;  there  are  sisters  and  patronesses  of  charity;  there  are 
hundreds — thousands — like  Faith  Gartney,  who  marry 
from  a  pure,  blind  reaching  for  a  holy  sphere  of  good.  They 
have  entreated  God  to  lead  them.  They  have  given  up  self, 
and  sought  His  work  of  Him,  Does  He  not  guide  ?  Does 
He  not  give  it  ? 

The  whole,  long  story,  that  He  only  sees,  in  its  unfolding 
shall  surely  show. 

"  Mr.  Rushleigh's  here  !"  shouted  Hendie,  precipitating 
himself,  next  morning,  into  the  breakfast-room,  where,  at  a 
rather  later  hour  than  usual,  Mrs.  Gartney  and  Faith  were 
washing  and  wiping  the  silver  and  china,  and  Mr.  Gartney 
still  lingered  in  his  seat,  finishing  somebody's  long  speech, 
Deported  in  the  evening  paper  of  yesterday. 

"Mr.  Rushleigh  's  here,  on  his  long-tailed  black  horse! 
And  he  says  he  '11  give  me  a  ride,  but  not  yet.  He  wants 
to  see  papa.  Make  haste,  papa." 

Faith  dropped  her  towel,  and  as  Mr.  Gartney  rose  to  go 
out  and  meet  his  visitor,  just  whispered,  hurriedly,  to  her 
mother,  — 

"I'll  come  down  again.  I '11  see  him  before  he  goes." 
And  escaped  up  the  kitchen  staircase  to  her  own  room. 

Paul  Rushleigh  came,  he  told  Mr.  Gartney,  because,  al 
though  Faith  had  not  authorized  him  to  appeal  to  her  father 


226      FAITH  GARTNEVS  GIRLHOOD. 

to  ratify  any  consent  of  hers,  he  thought  it  right  to  let  him 
know  what  he  had  already  said  to  his  daughter.  He  did 
not  wish  to  hurry  Faith.  He  only  wished  to  stand  openly 
with  Mr.  Gartney  in  the  matter,  and  would  wait,  then,  till 
she  should  be  quite  ready  to  give  him  her  own  answer. 

He  explained  the  prospect  his  father  offered  him,  and  the 
likelihood  of  his  making  a  permanent  home  at  Kinnicutt. 

"  That  is,"  he  added,  "  if  I  am  to  be  so  happy  as  to  have 
a  home,  anywhere,  of  my  own." 

Mr.  Gartney  was  delighted  with  the  young  man's  unaf 
fected  warmth  of  heart  and  noble  candor. 

"I  could  not  wish  better  for  my  daughter,  Mr.  Rush- 
leigh,"  he  replied.  "  And  she  is  a  daughter  whom  I  may 
fairly  wish  the  best  for,  too." 

Paul  Rushleigh  grasped  the  hand  held  out  to  him,  in  a 
strong  gratitude  for  the  favor  shown  himself,  and  mute, 
eloquent  concurrence  in  the  father's  honest  tribute  to  his 
child's  worth. 

Mr.  Gartney  rose.     "  I  will  send  Faith,"  said  he. 

"  I  do  not  ask  for  her,"  answered  Paul,  a  flush  of  feeling 
showing  in  his  cheek.  "  I  did  not  come,  expecting  it;  — 
my  errand  was  one  I  owed  to  yourself;  — but  Faith  knows 
quite  well  how  glad  I  shall  be  if  she  chooses  to  see  me." 

As  Mr.  Gartney  crossed  the  hall  from  parlor  to  sitting- 
room,  a  light  step  came  over  the  front  staircase. 

Faith  passed  her  father,  with  a  downcast  look,  as  he  mo 
tioned  with  his  hand  toward  the  room  where  Paul  stood, 
waiting.  The  bright  color  spread  to  her  temples  as  she 
glided  in. 

She  held,  but  did  not  wear,  the  little  turquoise  ring. 

Paul  saw  it,  as  he  came  forward  eagerly. 

A  thrill  of  hope,  or  dread,  —  he  scarce  knew  which,  — 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.      227 

quivered  suddenly  at  his  heart.     Was  he  to  take  it  back, 
or  place  it  on  her  finger  as  a  pledge  ? 

"I  have  been  thinking,  Paul,"  said  she,  tremulously, 
and  with  eyes  that  fell  again  away  from  his,  after  the  first 
glance  and  greeting,  "almost  ever  since.  And  I  do  nof 
think  I  ought  to  keep  you  waiting  to  know  the  little  I  cai 
tell  you.  I  do  not  think  I  understand  myself.  I  cannot 
tell,  certainly,  how  I  ought  —  how  I  do  feel.  I  have  liked 
you  very  much.  And  it  was  very  pleasant  to  me  before  all 
this.  I  know  you  deserve  to  be  made  very  happy.  And 
if  it  depends  on  me,  I  do  not  dare  to  say  I  will  not  try  to 
do  it.  If  you  think,  yourself,  that  this  is  enough,  —  that  I 
shall  do  the  truest  thing  so,  —  I  will  try." 

And  the  timid  little  fingers  laid  the  ring  into  his  hand, 
to  do  with  as  he  would. 

What  else  could  Paul  have  done  ? 

With  the  strong  arm  that  should  henceforth  uphold  and 
guard  her,  he  drew  her  close ;  and  with  the  other  hand 
slipped  the  simply  jewelled  round  upon  her  finger.  For 
all  word  of  answer,  he  lifted  it,  so  encircled,  to  his  lips. 

Faith  shrank  and  trembled. 

Hendie's  voice  sounded,  jubilant,  along  the  upper  floor, 
toward  the  staircase. 

"I  will  go,  now,  if  you  wish.  Perhaps  I  ought,"  said 
Paul.  "And  yet,  I  would  so  gladly  stay.  May  I  come 
again  by-ancl-by  ?  " 

Faith  uttered  a  half-audible  assent,  and  as  Hendie's  step 
came  nearer  down  the  stairs,  and  passed  the  door,  straight 
«ut  upon  the  gi'ass-plat,  toward  the  gate,  and  the  long-tailed 
black  horse  that  stood  there,  she  escaped  again  to  her  own 
chamber. 

Hendie  had  his  ride.     Meanwhile,  his  sister,  down  upon 


228 


her  knees  at  her  bedside,  struggled  with  the  mystery  and 
doubt  of  her  own  heart.  Why  could  she  not  feel  happier? 
Would  it  never  be  otherwise?  Was  this  all  life  had  for 
her,  in  its  holiest  gift,  henceforth  ?  But,  come  what  might, 
Bhe  would  have  God,  always  ! 

So,  without  words,  only  with  tears,  she  prayed,  and  at 
last,  grew  calm. 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

CONFLICT. 

O  Life,  O  Beyond, 

Art  thou  fair  I—art  thou  sweet  ?  " 

MRS.  BROWITINO. 

WE  live  two  lives.  A  life  of  our  deepest  thought  and 
feeling,  that  gets  stirred  but  seldom;  and  a  surface-life 
among  things  and  words. 

The  great  events  that  come  to  us  wear  two  aspects.  One 
when  we  look  at  them  from  the  inmost,  and  measure  them 
in  all  their  mighty  relation  to  what  is  everlasting;  and 
again  another  as  they  effect  only  the  little  outward  details 
of  doing. 

One  hour,  we  are  alone  before  God,  and  the  soul's  grasp 
stretches  out  toward  the  Infinite.  All  that  befalls  or  may 
befall  it,  then  seems  great,  momentous.  We  sleep,  —  we 
rise, — we  are  our  daily  petty  selves  again, — presences 
and  voices  come  about  that  call  us  back  into  our  superficial 
round,  —  and,  underneath,  for  weal  or  woe,  the  silenced 
tide  of  our  real  being  surges  onward  — whither  ? 

So  the  river  freezes  over,  and  bears  a  merriment  upon  its 
bosom.  So  the  great  earth  whereon  we  dwell  wears  its 
crust  of  hills  and  plains  and  cities  above  its  everlasting 

fires. 

229 


230      FAITH  GARTNEyS   GIRLHOOD. 

There  followed  days  that  almost  won  Faith  back  into  her 
outward  life  of  pleasantness. 

Margaret  came  over  with  Madam  Rushleigh,  and  fe 
licitated  herself  and  friend,  impetuously.  Paul's  mother 
thanked  her  for  making  her  son  happy.  Old  Mr.  Rush 
leigh  kissed  her  forehead  with  a  blessing.  And  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Gartney  looked  upon  their  daughter  as  with  new  eyes 
of  love.  Hendie  rode  the  black  horse  every  day,  and  de 
clared  that  "  everything  was  just  as  jolly  as  it  could  be  !  " 

Paul  drove  her  out,  and  walked  with  her,  and  talked  of 
his  plans,  and  all  they  would  do  and  have  together. 

And  she  let  herself  be  brightened  by  all  this  outward 
cheer  and  promise,  and  this  looking  forward  to  a  happiness 
and  use  that  were  to  come.  But  still  she  shrank  and  trem 
bled  at  every  lover-like  caress,  and  still  she  said,  fearfully, 
every  now  and  then,  — 

"Paul,  — I  don't  feel  as  you  do.  What  if  I  don't  love 
you  as  I  ought  ?  " 

And  Paul  called  her  his  little  oversensitive,  conscientious 
Faithie,  and  persuaded  himself  and  her  that  he  had  no  fear 
—  that  he  was  quite  satisfied. 

When  Mr.  Armstrong  came  to  see  her,  gravely  and  ten 
derly  wishing  her  joy,  and  looked  searchiugly  into  her  face 
for  the  pure  content  that  should  be  there,  she  bent  her  head 
into  her  hands  and  wept. 

She  was  very  weak,  you  say  ?  She  ought  to  have  known 
her  own  mind  better  ?  Perhaps.  I  speak  of  her  as  she 
was.  There  are  mistakes  like  these  in  life ;  there  are  hearts 
that  suffer  thus,  unconscious  of  their  ail. 

The  minister  waited  while  the  momentary  burst  of  emo 
tion  subsided,  and  something  of  Faith's  wonted  manner 
returned. 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.      231 

"It  is  very  foolish  of  me,"  she  said,  "and  you  must 
think  me  very  strange.  But,  somehow,  tears  come  easily 
when  one  has  been  feeling  a  great  deal.  And  such  kind 
words  from  you  touched  me." 

"  My  words  and  thoughts  will  always  be  kind  for  you, 
any  child.  And  I  know  very  well  that  tears  may  mean 
sweeter  and  deeper  things  than  smiles.  I  will  not  try  you 
with  much  talking  now.  You  have  my  affectionate  wishes 
and  my  prayers.  If  there  is  ever  any  help  that  I  can  give, 
to  you  who  have  so  much  loving  help  about  you,  count  on 
me  as  an  earnest  friend,  always." 

The  hour  was  past  when  Faith,  if  she  could  ever,  could 
have  asked  of  him  the  help  she  did  most  sorely  need. 

And  so,  with  a  gentle  hand-clasp,  he  went  away. 

Mr.  Gartney  began  to  be  restless  about  Michigan.  He 
wanted  to  go  and  see  this  wild  estate  of  his.  He  would 
have  liked  to  take  his  wife,  now  that  haying  would  soon  be 
over,  and  he  could  spare  the  time  from  his  farm,  and  make 
it  a  pleasant  summer  journey  for  them  both.  But  he  could 
neither  leave  Faith,  nor  take  her,  well,  it  seemed.  Hendie 
might  go.  Fathers  always  think  their  boys  ready  for  the 
woi'ld  when  once  they  are  fairly  out  of  the  nursery. 

One  day,  Paul  came  to  Cross  Corners  with  news. 

Mr.  Rushleigh  had  affairs  to  be  ai'ranged  and  looked  to, 
in  New  York,  —  matters  connected  with  the  mills,  which 
had,  within  a  few  weeks,  begun  to  run,  —  he  had  been 
there,  once,  about  them ;  he  could  do  all  quite  well,  now, 
by  letter,  and  an  authorized  messenger;  he  could  not  just 
now  very  well  leave  Kinnicutt.  Besides,  he  wanted  Paul 
eo  see  and  know  his  business  friends,  and  to  put  himself  in 
the  way  of  valuable  business  information.  Would  Faith 
spare  him  for  a  week  or  two,  — he  bade  his  son  to  ask. 


232       FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

Madam  Rushleigh  would  accompany  Paul;  and  before 
his  return  he  would  go  with  his  mother  to  Saratoga,  where 
her  daughter  Gertrude  and  Mrs.  Philip  Rushleigh  were, 
and  where  he  was  to  leave  her  for  the  remainder  of  their 
stay. 

Margaret  liked  Kinnicutt  better  than  any  watering-place ; 
aud  she  and  her  father  had  made  a  little  plan  of  their  own, 
which,  if  Faith  would  go  back  with  him,  they  would  explain 
to  her. 

So  Faith  went  over  to  Lakeside  to  tea,  and  heard  the 
plan. 

"  We  are  going  to  make  our  first  claim  upon  you,  Faith,'1 
said  the  elder  Mr.  Rushleigh,  as  he  led  his  daughter-in-law 
elect  out  on  the  broad  piazza  under  the  Italian  awnings, 
when  the  slight  summer  evening  repast  was  ended.  "We 
want  to  borrow  you,  while  madam  and  the  yonker  are  gone. 
Your  father  tells  me  he  wishes  to  make  a  western  journey 
Now,  why  not  send  him  off  at  this  very  time  ?  I  think  your 
mother  intends  accompanying  him  ?  " 

"It  had  been  talked  of,"  Faith  said;  "and  perhaps  her 
father  would  be  very  glad  to  go  when  he  could  leave  her  in 
such  good  keeping.  She  would  tell  him  what  Mr.  Rush 
leigh  had  been  so  kind  as  to  propose." 

It  was  a  suggestion  of  real  rest  to  Faith,  —  this  free 
companionship  with  Margaret  again,  in  the  old  girlish  fash 
ion, —  and  the  very  thoughtful  look,  that  was  almost  sad, 
which  had  become  habitual  to  her  face,  of  late,  brightened 
into  the  old, 'careless  pleasure,  as  she  spoke. 

Mr.  Rushleigh  noted.  A  little  doubt,  like  a  quick  shade, 
crossed  him,  for  the  first  time. 

It  was  almost  like  a  look  of  relief.  And  Paul  was  to  be 
*way ! 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.       233 

Paul  and  his  mother  came  out  on  the  piazza,  and  Madam 
Rushleigli  drew  Faith  to  a  place  between  them,  on  the  wide 
Indian  settee. 

Margaret  went  to  the  piano,  and  sang  her  twilight  songs. 
And  the  sweet  tones  floated  out  from  the  open  windows,  and 
lingered  about  them  as  they  sat  there ;  and  then  diffused 
themselves  away  upon  the  still,  warm  air,  into  faint  vibra 
tions,  lost  to  human  hearing ;  yet  spreading,  —  who  can  tell? 
perhaps,  —  in  a  rare,  ethereal  joy  of  melody,  the  mere  soul 
of  music,  whereof  the  form,  like  all  other  form,  may  die, 
while  the  spirit,  once  evoked,  lives  on  forever,  and  reaching 
with  each  thinned,  successive  wave,  some  listening,  adapted 
sense  in  the  great  deep  of  being. 

The  elegant  comfort,  the  refined  pleasantness,  the  family 
joy  that  reigned  in  the  Rushleighs'  home,  and  that  welcomed 
and  took  Faith  in,  and  made  her  an  essential  part  of  it,  — 
how  could  it  help  but  win  her  to  a  glad  content  ?  All  these 
accompanying  relationships  and  circumstances  made  an 
exterior  sphere  for  her  that  was  so  suited  to  her  feeling  and 
her  taste,  that  in  it  she  always  lost,  for  the  moment,  her 
doubt,  and  accepted,  involuntarily,  the  obvious  good  of  this, 
her  secondary  life. 

It  was  only  when  she  forgot  all  else,  and  turned  her 
thought,  self-searchingly,  to  her  tie  with  him  who  was  to  be 
the  life-long,  unchanging  centre,  henceforth,  of  whatever 
world,  in  all  the  years  to  come,  might  gather  and  shift  about 
her,  that  the  fear  and  the  shrinking  came  back. 

She  was  happier,  somehow,  when  father,  mother,  and 
sister,  with  their  winning  endearments,  were  all  about  her 
with  him,  than  when  he  claimed  her  to  himself,  and  sought 
to  speak  or  show  his  tenderness. 

Old  Mr.  Rushleigh  saw  something  in  this  that  began  to 
seem  to  him  more  than  mere  maidenly  shyness. 


234      FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

By-and-by,  Margaret  called  her  brother  to  sing  with  her. 

"  Corne,  Faithie,"  said  Paul  as  he  rose,  drawing  her 
gently  by  the  hand.  "  I  can't  sing  unless  you  go,  too." 

Faith  went;  more,  it  seemed,  of  his  will,  than  her  own. 

"How  does  that  appear  to  you?"  said  Mr.  Rushleigh  to 
his  wife.  "  Is  it  all  right  ?  Does  the  child  care  for  Paul  ?  " 

"  Care  !  "  exclaimed  the  mother,  almost  surprised  into  too 
audible  speech.  "How  can  she  help  caring?  And  hasn't 
it  grown  up  from  childhood  with  them  ?  What  put  such  a 
question  into  your  head  ?  I  should  as  soon  think  of  doubt 
ing  whether  I  care  for  you." 

It  was  easier  for  the  father  to  doubt,  jealously,  for  his 
son,  than  for  the  mother  to  conceive  the  possibility  of  indif 
ference  in  the  woman  her  boy  had  chosen. 

"Besides,"  added  Mrs.  Rnshleigh,  "why,  else,  should 
she  have  accepted  him?  I  know  Faith  Gartney  is  not 
mercenary,  or  worldly  ambitious." 

"  I  am  quite  sure  of  that,  as  well,"  answered  her  husband. 
"  It  is  no  doubt  of  her  motive  or  her  worth,  —  I  can't  say 
it  is  really  a  doubt  of  anything ;  but,  Gertrude,  she  must 
not  marry  the  boy  unless  her  whole  heart  is  in  it!  A 
sharp  stroke  is  better  than  a  life-long  pain." 

"I'm  sure  I  can't  tell  what  has  come  over  you!  She 
can't  ever  have  thought  of  anybody  else !  And  she  seems 
quite  one  of  ourselves." 

"Yes;  that's  just  the  uncertainty,"  replied  Mr.  Rush 
leigh.  "  Whether  it  isn't  as  much  Margaret,  and  you  and 
I,  as  Paul.  Whether  she  fully  knows  what  she  is  about. 
She  can't  marry  the  family,  you  know.  We  shall  die,  and 
go  off,  and  Heaven  knows  what;  Paul  must  be  the  whole 
world  to  her,  or  nothing.  I  hope  he  has  n't  hurried  her,— 
or  let  her  hurry  herself." 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.      235 

"  Hurry !    She  has  had  years  to  make  up  her  ruind  in  ! " 

Mrs.  Rushleigh,  woman  as  she  was,  would  not  under 
stand. 

"  We  shall  go,  in  three  days,"  said  Paul,  when  he  stood 
in  the  moonlight  with  Faith  at  the  little  white  gate  under 
the  elms,  after  driving  her  home;  "and  I  must  have  you 
all  the  time  to  myself,  until  then !  " 

Faith  wondered  if  it  were  right  that  she  shouldn't 
quite  care  to  be  "had  all  the  time  to  himself  until  then"? 
Whether  such  demonstrativeness  and  exclusiveness  of  affec 
tion  was  ever  a  little  irksome  to  others  as  to  her  ? 

Faith  thought  and  questioned,  often,  what  other  girls 
might  feel  in  positions  like  her  own,  and  tried  to  judge  her 
self  by  them ;  it  absolutely  never  occurred  to  her  to  think 
how  it  might  have  been  if  another  than  Paul  had  stood  in 
this  relation  toward  herself. 

The  young  man  did  not  quite  have  his  own  way,  however. 
His  father  went  down  to  Mishaumok  on  one  of  the  three 
days,  and  left  him  in  charge  at  the  mills ;  and  there  were 
people  to  see,  and  arrangements  to  make ;  but  some  part  of 
each  day  he  did  manage  to  devote  to  Faith,  and  they  had 
walking  and  driving  together,  and  every  night  Paul  staid 
to  tea  at  Cross  Corners. 

On  the  last  evening,  they  sat  together,  by  the  hill-side 
door,  in  the  summer  pai'lor. 

"Faithie,"  said  Paul,  a  little  suddenly,  "  there  is  some 
thing  you  must  do  for  me  —  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  What  is  it?  "  asked  Faith,  quite  calmly. 

"  You  must  wear  this,  now,  and  keep  the  forget-me-not 
for  a  guard." 

He  held  her  hand,  that  wore  the  ring,  in  one  of  his,  and 
there  was  a  flash  of  diamonds  as  he  brought  the  other  to 
ward  it. 


236      FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

Then  Faith  gave  a  quick,  strange  cry. 

"I  can't!  I  can't!  Oh,  Paul!  don't  ask  me!"  And 
her  hand  was  drawn  from  the  clasp  of  his,  and  her  face  was 
hidden  in  both  her  own. 

Paul  drew  back  —  hurt,  silent. 

"  If  I  could  only  wait ! "  she  murmured.  "  I  don't  dare, 
yet ! " 

She  could  wear  the  forget-me-not,  as  she  wore  the  memory 
of  all  their  long  young  friendship ;  it  belonged  to  the  past ; 
but  this  definite  pledge  for  the  future,  — these  diamonds ! 

"  Do  you  not  quite  belong  to  me,  even  yet  ?  "  asked  Paul, 
with  a  resentment,  yet  a  loving  and  patient  one,  in  his 
voice. 

"I  told  you,"  said  Faith,  "that  I  would  try  —  to  be  to 
you  as  you  wish;  but,  Paul!  if  I  couldn't  be  so,  truly?  — 
I  don't  know  why  I  feel  so  uncertain.  Perhaps  it  is  because 
you  care  for  me  too  much.  Your  thought  for  me  is  so 
great,  that  mine,  when  I  look  at  it,  never  seems  worthy." 

Paul  was  a  man.  He  could  not  sue,  too  cringingly,  even 
for  Faith  Gartney's  love. 

"  And  I  told  you,  Faith,  that  I  was  satisfied  to  be  allowed 
to  love  you.  That  you  should  love  me  a  little,  and  let  it 
grow  to  more.  But  if  it  is  not  love  at  all,  —  if  I  frighten 
you,  and  repel  you,  — I  have  no  wish  to  make  you  unhappy. 
I  must  let  you  go.  And  yet  —  oh,  Faith ! "  he  cried,  —  the 
sternness  all  gone,  and  only  the  wild  love  sweeping  through 
his  heart,  and  driving  wild  words  before  it,  —  "it  can't  be 
that  it  is  no  love,  after  all !  It  would  be  ioo  cruel ! " 

At  those  words,  "  I  must  let  you  go,"  spoken  apparently 
with  calmness,  as  if  it  could  be  done,  Faith  felt  a  bound  of 
freedom  in  her  soul.  If  he  would  let  her  go,  and  care  foi 
her  in  the  old  way,  only  as  a  friend !  But  the  strong  pas 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.      237 

Bionate  accents  came  after;  and  the  old  battle  of  doubt  and 
pity  and  remorse  surged  up  again,  and  the  cloud  of  their 
strife  dimmed  all  perception,  save  that  she  was  very,  very 
wretched. 

She  sobbed,  silently. 

"  Don't  let  us  say  good-bye,  so,"  said  Paul.  "Don't  let 
us  quarrel.  We  will  let  all  wait,  as  you  wish,  till  I  come 
home  again." 

So  he  still  clung  to  her,  and  held  her,  half-bound. 

"  And  your  father,  Paul?  And  Margaret?  How  can  I 
let  them  receive  me  as  they  do,  —  how  can  I  go  to  them  as 
I  have  promised,  in  all  this  indecision  ?  " 

"  They  want  you,  Faith,  for  your  own  sake.  There  is  no 
need  for  you  to  disappoint  them.  It  is  better  to  say  nothing 
more  until  we  do  know.  I  ask  it  of  you,  —  do  not  refuse 
me  this,  —  to  let  all  rest  just  here;  to  make  no  difference 
until  I  come  back.  You  will  let  me  write,  Faith  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  Paul,"  she  said,  wonderingly. 

It  was  so  hard  for  her  to  comprehend  that  it  could  not  be 
with  him,  any  longer,  as  it  had  been ;  that  his  written  or 
his  spoken  word  could  not  be,  for  a  time,  at  least,  mere 
friendly  any  more. 

And  so  she  gave  him,  unwittingly,  this  hope  to  go  with. 

"  I  think  you  do  care  for  me,  Faith,  if  you  only  knew  it ! " 
said  he,  half  sadly  and  very  wistfully,  as  they  parted. 

"  I  do  care,  very  much,"  Faith  answered,  simply  and 
earnestly.  "  I  never  can  help  caring.  It  is  only  that  I  am 
afraid  I  care  so  differently  from  you  !  " 

She  was  nearer  loving  him  at  that  moment,  than  she  had 
ever  been. 

Who  shall  attempt  to  bring  into  accord  the  seeming  con 
tradictions  of  a  woman's  heart? 


CHAPTER  XXV, 

A  GAME  AT  CHESS. 

"Life's  burdens  fall,  its  discords  cease, 
I  lapse  into  the  glad  release 
Of  nature's  own  exceeding  peace." 

WHITTIER. 

"I  DON'T  see,"  said  Aunt  Faith,  "why  the  child  canH 
come  to  me,  Henderson,  while  you  and  Elizabeth  are  away. 
I  don't  believe  in  putting  yourself  under  obligations  to  peo 
ple  till  you  're  sure  they  're  going  to  be  something  to  you. 
Things  don't  always  turn  out  according  to  the  Almanac." 

"  She  goes  just  as  she  always  has  gone  to  the  Rush- 
leighs,"  replied  Mr.  Gartney.  "Paul  is  to  be  away.  It  is 
a  visit  to  Margaret.  Still,  I  shall  be  absent-  at  least  a 
fortnight,  and  it  might  be  well  that  she  should  divide  her 
time,  and  come  to  Cross  Corners  for  a  few  days,  if  it  is  only 
to  see  the  house  opened  and  ready.  Luther  can  have  a  bed 
here,  if  Mis'  Battis  should  be  afraid." 

Mis'  Battis  was  to  improve  the  fortnight's  interval  for  a 
visit  to  Factory  Village. 

"Well,  fix  it  your  own  way,"  said  Miss  Henderson. 
"  I  'rn  ready  for  her,  any  time.  Only,  if  she  is  going  to 
peak  and  pine  as  she  has  done  ever  since  this  grand  match 
was  settled  for  her,  Glory  and  I'll  have  our  hands  full, 

Dursing  her,  by  then  you  get  back !  " 

238 


FAITH  GARTNEY' 8  GIRLHOOD.       239 

"  Faith  is  quite  well,"  said  Mrs.  Gartney.  "  It  is  natural 
girl  to  be  somewhat  thoughtful  when  she  decides  foi 
b^rself  such  an  important  relation." 

"Symptoms  differ,  in  different  cases.  /  should  say  she 
»vas  taking  it  pretty  hard,"  said  the  old  lady. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gartney  left  home  on  Monday. 

Faith  and  Mis'  Battis  remained  in  the  house  a  few  hour* 
ifter,  setting  all  things  in  that  dreary  "to  rights"  before 
leaving,  which  is  almost,  in  its  chillness  and  silence,  like 
burial  array.  Glory  came  over  to  help ;  and  when  all  was 
done,  —  blinds  shut,  windows  and  doors  fastened,  fire  out, 
ashes  removed, — stove  blackened, — Luther  drove  Mis' 
Battis  and  her  box  over  to  Mrs.  Pranker's,  and  Glory  took 
Faith's  little  bag  for  her  to  the  Old  House. 

This  night  she  was  to  stay  with  her  aunt.  She  wanted 
just  this  little  pause  and  quiet  before  going  to  the  Rush- 
leighs1. 

"  Tell  Aunt  Faith  I'm  coming,"  said  she,  as  she  let  her 
self  and  Glory  out  at  the  front  door,  and  then,  locking  it, 
put  the  key  in  her  pocket.  "I'll  just  walk  up  over  the 
Ridge  first,  for  a  little  coolness  and  quiet,  after  this  busy 
day." 

It  had  been  truly  so  busy,  that  Faith  had  had  no  time 
for  facing  her  intruding  thoughts ;  but  put  them  all  off,  and 
thrust  them  back,  as  it  were,  into  the  antechamber  of  her 
mind,  to  be  bidden  in  when  she  should  be  more  at  leisure ; 
and  even  yet,  she  would  not  let  them  crowd  upon  her  with 
their  importunate  errands.  She  wanted  just  this  little  time 
for  respite.  This  Monday  evening  should  be  all  peaceful. 
There  was  a  natural  reaction  from  the  tense  strain  that  had 
been  upon  thought  and  feeling,  that  made  this  at  once  an 
instinct  and  a  possibility.  She  held  perself  in  a  passiveness 
that  would,  for  awhile,  neither  feel  nor  consider. 


240      FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

She  walked  up  the  shady  path  to  the  boulder  rock,  and 
cradled  herself  iu  its  stony  hollow,  — just  where  she  had 
sat  and  listened,  weeks  before,  to  Roger  Armstrong's  story. 

The  summer  sweetness,  distilled  all  day  by  the  glowing 
sun  out  of  all  growing  things,  came  up  to  and  around  her. 
Beauty  and  stillness  folded  her  as  in  a  garment.  She  was 
in  God's  world  still !  Whatever  world  of  fear  and  doubt 
and  struggle  her  spirit  might  be  groping  into,  dimly,  things 
outside  her  were  unchanged.  She  would  come  back  into, 
and  live  in  them  for  a  few  brief  hours  of  utter  and  child 
like  calm. 

There  was  the  peace  of  a  rested  body  and  soul  upon  her 
face  when  she  came  down  again  a  half  hour  after,  and 
crossed  the  lane,  and  entered,  through  the  stile,  upon  the 
field-path  to  the  Old  House.  Heart  and  will  had  been  laid 
asleep,  —  earthly  plan  and  purpose  had  been  put  aside  in 
all  their  incompleteness  and  uncertainty,  —  and  only  God 
and  Nature  had  been  permitted  to  come  near. 

Mr.  Armstrong  walked  down  and  met  her  midway  in  the 
field. 

"How  beautiful  mere  simpleness  and  quiet  are,"  said 
Faith.  "  The  cool  look  of  trees  and  grass,  and  the  stillness 
of  this  evening  time,  are  better  even  than  flowers,  and  bright 
sunlight,  and  singing  of  birds ! " 

" '  He  maketh  me  to  lie  down  in  green  pastures :  He 
leadeth  me  beside  the  still  waters :  He  restoreth  my  soul : 
He  leadeth  me  in  the  paths  of  righteousness  for  His  name's 
sake.'" 

They  did  not  disturb  the  stillness  by  more  words.  They 
came  up  together,  in  the  hush  and  shadow,  to  the  pleasant 
doorstone,  that  offered  its  broad  invitation  to  their  entering 
feet,  and  where  Aunt  Faith  at  this  moment  stood,  watching 
and  awaiting  them. 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.      241 

"  Go  into  the  blue  bedroom,  and  lay  off  your  things, 
child,"  she  said,  giving  Faith  a  kiss  of  welcome,  "  and  then 
come  back  and  we  '11  have  our  tea." 

Faith  disappeared  through  passages  and  rooms  beyond. 

Aunt  Henderson  turned  quickly  to  the  minister. 

"You're  her  spiritual  adviser,  aint  you?"   she  asked 
abruptly. 

"  I  ought  to  be,"  answered  Mr.  Armstrong. 

"  Why  don't  you  advise  her  then  ?  " 

"  Spiritually,  I  do  and  will,  in  so  far  as  so  pure  a  spirit  can 
need  a  help  from  me.  But, — I  think  I  know  what  you 
mean,  Miss  Henderson,  —  spirit  and  heart  are  two.  I  am  a 
man  ;  and  she  is  —  what  you  know." 

Miss  Henderson's  keen  eyes  fixed  themselves,  for  a  minute, 
piercingly  and  unflinchingly,  on  the  minister's  face.  Then 
she  turned,  without  a  word,  and  went  into  the  house  to 
see  the  tea  brought  in.  She  knew,  now,  all  there  was 
to  tell. 

Faith's  face  interpreted  itself  to  Mr.  Armstrong.  He 
saw  that  she  needed,  and  would  have,  rest.  Kest,  this 
night,  from  all  that  of  late  had  given  her  weariness  and 
trouble.  So,  he  did  not  even  talk  to  her  in  the  way  they 
mostly  talked  together ;  he  would  not  rouse,  ever  so  distantly, 
thought,  that  might,  by  so  many  subtle  links,  bear  round 
upon  her  hidden  pain.  But  he  brought,  —  after  tea,  when 
the  faint  little  shaded  lamp,  that  hardly  quarrelled  with  the 
twilight,  or,  if  it  did,  made  nothing  more  than  a  drawn 
battle  of  it,  so  that  dor-bugs  and  mosquitoes  could  not 
make  up  their  minds,  positively,  that  they  should  do  better 
inside  than  out,  was  lit  in  the  southeast  room,  —  a  tiny 
chess-board,  and  set  the  delicate  carved  men  upon  it,  and 
asked  her  if  she  knew  the  game. 


242      FAITH  GAHTNETS  GIRLHOOD. 

"  A  little,"  sbe  said.  "  "What  everybody  always  ow.is  to 
knowing  —  the  moves." 

"  Suppose  we  play." 

It  was  a  very  pleasant  novelty,  —  sitting  down  with  this 
grave,  earnest  friend  to  a  game  of  skill,  —  and  seeing  him 
bring  to  it  all  the  resource  of  power  and  thought  that  he 
bent,  at  other  times,  on  more  important  work. 

Whatever  Roger  Armstrong  did,  he  did  with  the  might 
that  was  in  him. 

"Not  that,  Miss  Faith!  You  don't  mean  that!  You 
put  your  queen  in  danger." 

"  My  queen  is  always  a  great  trouble  to  me,"  said  Faith, 
smiling,  as  she  retracted  the  half-made  move.  "  I  think  I 
do  better  when  I  give  her  up  in  exchange." 

"  Excuse  me,  Miss  Faith ;  but  that  always  seems  to  me  a 
cowardly  sort  of  game.  It  is  like  giving  up  a  great  power 
in  life  because  one  is  too  weak  to  claim  and  hold  it." 

"  Only  I  make  you  lose  yours  too." 

"  Yes,  there  is  a  double  loss  and  inefficiency.  Does  that 
make  a  better  game,  or  one  pleasanter  to  play?  " 

"There  are  two  people,  in  there,  talking  riddles;  and 
they  don't  even  know  it,"  said  Miss  Henderson  to  her  hand 
maid,  in  the  kitchen  close  by. 

Perhaps  Mr.  Armstrong,  as  he  spoke,  did  discern  a  pos 
sible  deeper  significance  in  his  own  words ;  did  misgive  him 
self  that  he  might  rouse  thoughts  so ;  at  any  rate,  he  made 
rapid,  skilful  movements  on  the  board,  that  brought  the 
jr-ame  into  new  complications,  and  taxed  all  Faith's  attention 
to  avert  their  dangers  to  herself. 

For  half  an  hour,  there  was  no  more  talking. 

Then  Faith's  queen  was  put  in  helpless  peril. 

"I  must  give  her  up,"  said  she.     "  She  is  all  but  gone. 


FAITH  GARTNETS   GIRLHOOD.      243 

A  few  moves  inore,  and  all  Faith's  hope  depended  on  one 
little  pawn,that  might  be  pushed  to  queen  and  save  her  game. 

"  How  one  does  want  the  queen-power  at  the  last !  "  said 
she.  "And  how  much  easier  it  is  to  lose  it,  than  to  get  it 
back." 

"It  is  like  the  one  great,  leading  possibility,  that  life,  in 
some  sort,  offers  each  of  us,"  said  Mr.  Armstrong.  "  Once 
lost,  — once  missed,  — we  may  straggle  on  without  it,  —  we 
rnay  push  little  chances  forward  to  partial  amends;  but  the 
game  is  changed ;  its  soul  is  gone." 

As  he  spoke  he  made  the  move  that  led  to  obvious  check 
mate. 

Glory  came  in  to  the  cupboard,  now,  and  began  putting 
up  the  tea-things  she  had  brought  from  washing. 

Mr.  Armstrong  had  done  just  what,  at  first,  he  had  meant 
not  to  do.  Had  he  bethought  himself  better,  and  did  he 
seize  the  opening  to  give  vague  warning  where  he  might  not 
speak  more  plainly  ?  Or,  had  his  habit,  as  a  man  of  thought, 
discerning  quick  meaning  in  all  things,  betrayed  him  into 
the  instant's  forgetfulness  ? 

However  it  might  be, Glory  caught  glimpse  of  two  strange 
pained  faces  over  the  little  board  and  its  mystic  pieces. 

One,  pale,  —  downcast,  —  with  expression  showing  a  sud 
den  pang ;  the  other,  suffering  also,  yet  tender,  self-forgetful, 
loving,  — looking  on. 

"I  don't  know  whichever  is  worst,"  she  said  afterward, 
without  apparent  suggestion  of  word  or  circumstance,  to  her 
jaistress;  "  to  see  the  beautiful  times  that  there  are  in  the 
World,  and  not  be  in  'em,  —  or  to  see  people  that  might  be 
in  'em,  and  aint !  " 

They  were  all  out  on  the  front  stoop,  later.  They  sat  in 
.he  cool,  summer  dusk,  and  looked  out  between  the  arched 


244      FAITH  QARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

lattices,  where  the  vines  climb  up,  seeing  the  stars  rise, 
tar  away,eastwarclly,in  the  blue ;  and  Mr.  Arinstrong.talking 
with  Faith,  managed  to  win  her  back  into  the  calm  he  had, 
for  an  instant,  broken ;  and  to  keep  her  from  pursuing  the 
thought  that  by-and-by  would  surely  come  back,  and  which 
she  would  surely  want  all  possible  gain  of  strength  to  grap 
ple  with. 

Faith  met  his  intention  bravely,  seconding  it  with  her  own. 
These  hours,  to  the  last,  should  still  be  restful.  She  would 
not  think,  to-night,  of  those  words  that  had  startled  her  so, 
—  of  all  they  suggested  or  might  mean,  —  of  life's  great 
possibility  lost  to  him,  away  back  in  the  sorrowful  past,  as 
she  also,  perhaps  was  missing  it,  —  relinquishing  it,  —  now. 

She  knew  not  that  his  thought  had  been  utterly  self- 
forgetful.  She  believed  that  he  had  told  her,  indirectly,  of 
himself,  when  he  had  spoken  those  dreary  syllables,  —  "  the 
game  is  changed.  Its  soul  is  gone ! " 

Singularly,  that  night  again,  as  on  the  night  so  long  ago, 
when  Faith  had  come  on  her  little  visit  of  exploration  to 
Kinnicutt,  the  lesson  read  them  from  the  Bible  was  that 
miracle  of  the  loaves  and  fishes. 

A  comfort  came  to  Faith,  as  she  listened ;  as  the  comfort 
we  need  at  the  moment  always  does  come,  by  the  instant 
gift  of  the  Spirit,  through  whatever  Gospel-words  may  be 
its  vehicle. 

The  loaves  might  be  few  and  small ;  life  might  be  scant 
and  insufficient  seemingly;  yet  a  touch  Divine  should  multi 
ply  the  food,  and  make  it  ample ! 

Nevertheless,  —  did  she  remember  this  ?  That,  but  the 
next  day  after,  the  disciples,  with  this  recognized  Divine- 
ness  at  their  side,  stood  self-rebuked,  because  they  had 
neglected  to  make  for  themselves  such  human  provision  aa 
they  might  have  done  ? 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

LAKESIDE. 

"  Look !  are  the  southern  curtains  drawn  r 
Fetch  me  a  fan,  and  so  begone  1 

Rain  me  sweet  odors  on  the  air, 
And  wheel  me  up  my  Indian  chair; 
And  spread  some  book  not  overwise 
Flat  out  before  my  sleepy  eyes." 

O.  W.  HOLMES. 

THE  Rushleighs'  breakfast-room  at  Lakeside  was  very 
lovely  in  a  summer's  morning. 

Looking  off,  northwestwardly,  across  the  head  of  the 
Pond,  the  long  windows,  opening  down  to  the  piazza,  let  in 
all  the  light  and  joy  of  the  early  day,  and  that  inde 
scribable  freshness  born  from  the  union  of  woods  and 
water. 

Faith  had  come  down  long  before  the  others,  this  fair 
Wednesday  morning. 

Mr.  llushleigh  found  her,  when  he  entered,  sitting  by  a 
window,  — a  book  upon  her  lap,  to  be  sure,  —  but  her  eyes 
away  off  over  the  lake,  and  a  look  in  them  that  told  of 
thoughts  horizoned  yet  more  distantly. 

Last  night,  he  had  brought  homo  Paul's  first  letter. 

When  he  gave  it  to  her,  at  tea  time,  with  a  gay  and 
kindly  word,  the  color  that  deepened  vividly  upon  her  face. 

245 


246      FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

and  the  quiet  way  in  which  she  laid  it  down  beside  her 
plate,  were  nothing  strange,  perhaps ;  but —  was  he  wrong? 
the  eyes  that  drooped  so  quickly  as  the  blushes  rose,  and 
then  lifted  themselves  again  so  timidly  to  him  as  he  next 
addressed  her,  were  surely  brimmed  with  feeling  that  was 
nat  quite,  or  wholly  glad. 

And  now,  this  wistful,  silent,  musing,  far-off  look ! 

"  Good  morning,  Faithie  !  " 

"Good  morning."  And  the  glance  came  back, — the 
reverie  was  broken, — Faith's  spirit  informed  her  visible 
presence  again,  and  bade  him  true  and  gentle  welcome. 
"You  haven't  your  morning  paper  yet?  I'll  bring  it. 
Thomas  left  it  in  the  library,  I  think.  He  came  back  from 
the  early  train  half  an  hour  ago." 

"  Can't  you  women  tell  what 's  the  matter  with  each 
other?"  said  Mr.  Rushleigh  to  his  daughter,  who  entered 
by  the  other  door,  as  Faith  went  out  into  the  hall.  "  What 
ails  Faith,  Margaret  ?  " 

"  Nothing  of  consequence,  I  think.  She  is  tired  with 
all  that  has  been  going  on,  lately.  And  then  she  's  the 
shyest  little  thing ! " 

"It's  a  sort  of  shyness  that  don't  look  so  happy  as  it 
might,  it  seems  to  me.  And  what  has  become  of  Paul's 
diamonds,  I  wonder?  I  went  with  him  to  choose  some, 
last  week.  I  thought  I  should  see  them  next  upon  her 
finger." 

Margaret  opened  her  eyes  widely.  Of  course,  this  was 
the  first  she  had  heard  of  the  diamonds.  Where  could  they 
be,  indeed?  Was  anything  wrong?  They  had  not  surely 
quarrelled ! 

Faith  came  in  with  the  paper.  Thomas  brought  up 
breakfast  And  presently,  these  three,  with  all  their 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.      247 

thoughts  of  and  for  each  other,  that  reached  into  the  long 
years  to  come,  and  had  their  roots  in  all  that  had  gone  by, 
were  gathered  at  the  table,  seemingly  with  no  further  anx 
iety  than  to  know  whether  one  or  another  would  have  toast 
or  muffins,  —  eggs  or  raspberries. 

Do  we  not  —  and  most  strangely  and  incomprehensibly  — 
live  two  lives  ? 

"I  must  write  to  my  mother,  to-day,"  said  Margaret, 
when  her  father  had  driven  away  to  the  mills,  and  they 
had  brought  in  a  few  fresh  flowers  from  the  terrace  for  the 
vases,  and  had  had  a  little  morning  music,  which  Margaret 
always  craved,  "  as  an  overture,"  she  said  "  to  the  day." 

"  I  must  write  to  my  mother;  and  you,  I  suppose,  will  be 
busy  with  answering  Paul  ?  " 

A  little  consciousness  kept  her  from  looking  straight  in 
Faith's  face,  as  she  spoke.  Had  she  done  so,  she  might 
have  seen  that  a  paleness  came  over  it,  and  that  the  lips 
trembled. 

"  I  don't  know,"  was  the  answer.  "  Perhaps  not,  to 
day." 

"Not  to-day?  "Won't  he  be  watching  every  mail?  I 
don't  know  much  about  it,  to  be  sure  ;  but  I  fancied  lovers 
were  such  uneasy,  exacting  creatures  ! " 

"Paul  is  very  patient,"  said  Faith,  —  not  lightly  as 
Margaret  had  spoken,  but  as  one  self-reproached,  almost, 
for  abusing  patience,  —  "  and  they  go  to-morrow  to  Lake 
George.  He  won't  look  for  a  letter  until  he  gets  to  Sara 
toga." 

She  had  calculated  her  time  as  if  it  were  the  minutes  of  a 
reprieve. 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  that,"  said  Margaret.  "How 
came  you  to  reckon  so  closely?  But,  for  me,  I  must  write, 


248      FAITH  GARTNETS  GIRLHOOD. 

simply  because  I  have  just  heard  from  mamma.  My  ideas 
are  like  champagne  —  good  for  nothing  after  the  first  effer 
vescence.  And  the  cork  is  drawn,  always,  the  minute  I 
get  a  letter  myself!  If  I  wait  till  next  day,  it  may  as  well 
never  be  answered ;  and,  very  likely,  never  will ! " 
I  When  Paul  Rushleigh,  with  his  mother,  reached  Sara- 
'  toga,  he  found  two  letters  there,  for  him.  One  kind,  sim 
ple,  but  reticent,  from  Faith  —  a  mere  answer  to  that  which 
she  could  answer,  of  his  own.  The  other  was  from  his 
father. 

"There  seems,"  he  wrote  to  his  son,  toward  the  close, 
"to  be  a  little  cloud  upon  Faith,  somehow.  Perhaps  it  is 
one  you  would  not  wish  away.  It  may  brighten  up  and 
roll  off,  at  your  return.  You,  possibly,  understand  it  better 
than  I.  Yet  I  feel,  in  my  strong  anxiety  for  your  true 
good,  impelled  to  warn  you  against  letting  her  deceive  her 
self  and  you,  by  giving  you  less  than,  for  her  own  happi 
ness  and  yours,  she  ought  to  be  able  to  give.  Do  not  marry 
the  child,  Paul,  if  there  can  be  a  doubt  of  her  entire  affec 
tion  for  you.  You  had  better  go  through  life  alone,  than 
with  a  wife's  half-love.  If  you  have  reason  to  imagine  that 
she  feels  bound  by  anything  in  the  past  to  what  the  present 
cannot  heartily  ratify,  —  release  her.  I  counsel  you  to  this, 
not  more  in  justice  to  her,  than  for  the  saving  of  your  own 
peace.  She  writes  you  to-day.  It  may  be  that  the  anti 
dote  comes  with  the  hurt.  I  may  be  quite  mistaken.  But 
I  hurt  you,  my  son,  only  to  save  a  sorer  pain.  Faith  is 
true.  If  she  says  she  loves  you,  believe  her,  and  take  her, 
though  all  the  world  should  doubt.  But  if  she  is  fearful, 
—  if  she  hesitates, — be  fearful,  and  hesitate  yourself,  lest 
your  marriage  be  no  true  marriage  before  heaven  ! " 
Paul  Rushleigh  thanked  his  father,  briefly,  for  his  admo- 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.      249 

oition,  in  reply.  He  wrote,  also,  to  Faith  —  affectionately, 
but  with  something,  at  last,  of  her  own  reserve.  He  should 
not  probably  write  again.  In  a  week,  or  less,  he  would  be 
horn ). 

And  behind,  and  beyond  all  this,  that  could  be  put  on 
paper,  was  the  hope  of  a  life,  —  the  sharp  doubt  of  days,  — 
waiting  the  final  word  ! 

In  a  week,  he  would  be  home !  A  week  1  It  might 
bring  much ! 

Wednesday  had  come  round  again. 

Dinner  was  nearly  ended  at  Lakeside.  Cool  jellies,  and 
creams,  and  fruits,  were  on  the  table  for  dessert.  Steaming 
dishes  of  meats  and  vegetables  had  been  gladly  sent  away, 
but  slightly  partaken.  The  day  was  sultry.  ,  Even  now, 
at  five  in  the  afternoon,  the  heat  was  hardly  mitigated  from 
that  of  midday. 

They  lingered  over  their  dessert,  and  spoke,  rather  lan 
guidly,  of  what  might  be  done  after. 

"  For  me,"  said  Mr.  Rushleigh,  "  I  must  go  down  to  the 
mills  again,  before  night.  If  either,  or  both  of  you .  like  a 
drive,  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  you  with  me." 

"Those  hot  mills!"  exclaimed  Margaret.  "What  an 
excursion  to  propose  !  " 

"  I  could  find  you  a  very  cool  corner,  even  in  those  hot 
mills,"  replied  her  father.  "  My  little  sanctum,  up  stairs, 
that  overlooks  the  river,  and  gets  its  breezes,  is  the  freshest 
place  I  have  been  in,  to-day.  Will  you  go,  Faith?  " 

"Oh,  yes!  she'll  go!  I  see  it  in  her  eyes!"  said  Mar 
garet.  "  She  is  getting  to  be  as  much  absorbed  in  all  those 
frantic  looms  and  things,  —  that  set  me  into  a  fever  just  to 
think  of,  whizzing  and  humming  alL  day  long  in  this  horri- 
tle  heat,  — as  you  are !  I  believe  she  expects  to  help  Paul 


250      FAITH  GARTNERS  GIRLHOOD. 

oversee  the  factory,  one  of  these  days,  she  is  so  fierce  to  peer 
into  and  understand  everything  about  it.  Or  else,  she 
means  mischief!  You  had  a  funny  look  in  your  face, 
Faithie,  the  other  day,  when  you  stood  there  by  the  great 
rope  that  hoists  the  water-gate,  and  Mr.  Blasland  was  ex 
plaining  it  to  us  !  " 

"  I  was  thinking,  I  remember,11'  said  Faith,  "  what  a 
strange  thing  it  was  to  have  one's  hand  on  the  very  motive 
power  of  it  all.  To  see  those  great  looms,  and  wheels,  and 
cylinders,  and  spindles,  we  had  been  looking  at,  and  hear 
nothing  but  their  deafening  roar  all  about  us,  and  to  think 
that  even  I,  standing  there  with  my  hand  upon  the  rope, 
might  hush  it  all,  and  stop  the  mainspring  of  it  in  a 
minute ! " 

Ah,  Faithie !  Did  you  think,  as  you  said  this,  how 
your  little  hand  lay,  otherwise,  also,  on  the  mainspring 
and  motive  of  it  all  ?  One  of  the  three,  at  least,  thought 
ol  it,  as  you  spoke. 

"Well,  —  your  heart's  in  the  spindles,  I  see!"  rejoined 
Margaret.  "So,  don't  mind  me.  I  haven't  a  bit  of  a 
plan  for  your  entertainment,  here.  I  should  n't,  probably, 
Bpeak  to  you,  if  you  staid.  It 's  too  hot  for  anything  but 
A  book,  and  a  fan,  and  a  sofa  by  an  open  window ! " 

I  aith  laughed ;  but,  before  she  could  reply,  a  chaise 
rolled  up  to  the  open  front  door,  and  the  step  and  voice 
of  Doctor  Wasgatt  were  heard,  as  he  inquired  for  Miss 
Gartney. 

Faith  left  her  seat,  with  a  word  of  excuse,  and  met  him 
in  the  hall. 

"  I.  had  a  patient  up  this  way,"  said  he.  "  and  came 
roUn'<  to  bring  you  a  message  from  Miss  Henderson. 
Nothing  to  be  frightened  at,  in  the  least;  only  that  she 


FAITH  GABTNET'S  GIRLHOOD.      251 

is  n't  quite  so  well  as  ordinary,  these  last  hot  days,  and 
thought  perhaps  you  might  as  lief  come  over.  She  said 
she  was  expecting  you  for  a  visit  there,  before  your  folks 
get  back.  No,  thank  you ;  "  as  Faith  motioned  to  conduct 
him  to  the  drawing-room,  —  "can't  come  in.  Sorry  1 
could  n't  offer  to  take  you  down  ;  but  I  've  got  more  visits 
to  make,  and  they  lie  round  the  other  way." 

"Is  Aunt  Faith  ill?" 

"Well,  —  no.  Not  so  but  that  she'll  be  spry  again  in 
a  day  or  two;  especially  if  the  weather  changes.  That 
ancle  of  hers  is  troublesome,  and  she  had  something  of  an 
ill  turn  last  night,  and  called  me  over  this  morning.  She 
seems  to  have  taken  a  sort  of  fancy  that  she'd  like  to  have 
you  there." 

"  I  '11  come." 

And  Faith  went  back,  quickly,  as  Doctor  Wasgatt  de 
parted,  to  make  his  errand  known,  and  to  ask  if  Mr.  Rush- 
leigh  would  mind  driving  her  round  to  Cross  Corners,  after 
going  to  his  mills. 

"  Wait  till  to-morrow,  Faithie,"  said  Margaret,  in  the 
tone  of  one  whom  it  fatigues  to  think  of  an  exertion,  even 
for  another.  "  You  '11  want  your  box  with  you,  you  know ; 
and  there  is  n't  time  for  anything  to-night." 

"I  think  I  ought  to  go  now,"  answered  Faith.  "Aunt 
Henderson  never  complains  for  a  slight  ailment,  and  she 
might  be  ill  again  to-night.  I  can  take  all  I  shall  need 
before  to-morrow  in  my  little  morocco  bag.  I  won't  keep 
you  waiting  a  minute,"  she  added,  turning  to  Mr.  Rush- 
leigh. 

"  I  can  wait  twenty,  if  you  wish,"  he  answered,  kindly. 

But  in  less  than  ten,  they  were  driving  down  toward  the 
river. 


252      FAITH  GARTNET'S  GIRLHOOD. 

Margaret  Rushleigh  had  betaken  herself  to  her  own  cou» 
chamber,  where  the  delicate  straw  matting,  and  pale  green, 
leaf-patterned  chintz  of  sofa,  chairs,  and  hangings,  gave  a 
feeling  of  the  last  degree  of  summer  lightness  and  dainti 
ness,  and  the  gentle  air  breathed  in  from  the  southwest, 
sifted,  on  the  way,  of  its  sunny  heat,  by  the  green  dra 
peries  of  vine  and  branch  it  wandered  through. 

Lying  there,  on  the  cool,  springy  cushions  of  her  couch, 
—  turning  the  fresh-cut  leaves  of  the  August  "  Mishau- 
mok," —  she  forgot  the  wheels  and  the  spindles  —  the  hot 
mills,  and  the  ceaseless  whirr. 

Just  at  that  moment  of  her  utter  comfort  and  content,  a 
young  factory  girl  dropped,  fainting,  in  the  dizzy  heat,  be 
fore  her  loom. 


CHAPTER    XXVH. 

AT  THE    MILLS. 

"  For  all  day  the  wheels  are  droning,  turning, — 

Their  wind  comes  in  our  faces,  — 

Till  our  hearts  turn,  — our  head  with  pulses  horning,— 
And  the  walls  turn  in  their  places." 

MRS.  BROWNING. 

FAITH  sat  silent  by  Mr.  Rushleigh's  side,  drinking  in, 
also,  with  a  cool  content,  the  river  air  that  blew  upon  their 
faces  as  they  drove  along. 

"Faithie!"  said  Paul's  father,  a  little  suddenly,  at 
last,  —  "do  you  know  how  true  a  thing  you  said  a  little 
while  ago  ?  " 

"How,  sir?  "  asked  Faith j-not  perceiving  what  he  meant. 

"When  you  spoke  of  having  your  hand  on  the  main 
spring  of  all  this  ?  " 

And  he  raised  his  right  arm,  motioning  with  the  slender 
whip  he  held,  along  the  line  of  factory  buildings  that  lay 
before  them. 

A  deep,  blazing  blush  burned,  at  his  word,  over  Faith's 
cheek  and  brow.  She  sat  and  suffered  it  under  his  eye,  — 
ottering  not  a  syllable. 

"  I  knew  you  did  not  know.     You  did  not  think  of  it  so 
Y"et  it  is  true,  none  the  less. — Faith!    Are  you  happy? 

Are  you  satisfied  ? " 

253 


254      FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

Still  a  silence,  and  tears  gathering  in  the  eyes. 

"I  do  not  wish  to  distress  you,  my  dear.  It  is  only  a 
little  word  I  should  like  to  hear  you  speak.  I  must,  so 
far  as  I  can,  see  that  my  children  are  happy,  Faith." 

"I  suppose,"  said  Faith,  tremulously,  struggling  to 
speech,  —  "one  cannot  expect  to  be  utterly  happy  in  this 
world." 

"  One  does  expect  it,  forgetting  all  else,  at  the  moment 
when  is  given  what  seems  to  one  life's  first,  great  good, — 
the  earthly  good  that  comes  but  once.  I  remember  my 
own  youth,  Faithie.  Pure,  present  content  is  seldom  over- 
wise." 

"Only,"  said  Faith,  still  tremblingly,  "that  the  respon 
sibility  comes  with  the  good.  That  feeling  of  having  one's 
hand  upon  the  mainspring  is  a  fearful  one." 

''I  am  not  given,"  said  Mr.  Rushleigh,  "to  quoting 
Bible  at  all  times ;  but  you  make  a  line  of  it  come  up  to 
me.  '  There  is  no  fear  in  love.  Perfect  love  casteth  out 
fear.'" 

"Be  sure  of  yourself,  dear  child.  Be  sure  }rou  are  con 
tent  and  happy ;  and  tell  me  so,  if  you  can ;  or,  tell  me 
otherwise,  if  you  must,  without  a  reserve  or  misgiving," 
he  said  again,  as  they  drove  down  the  mill-entrance ;  and 
their  conversation,  for  the  time,  came,  necessarily,  to  an 
end. 

Coming  into  the  mill-yard,  they  were  aware  of  a  little 
commotion  about  one  of  the  side  doors. 

The  mill-girl  who  had  fainted  sat  here,  surrounded  by  two 
or  three  of  her  companions,  slowly  recovering. 

"It  is  Mary  Grover,  sir,  from  up  at  the  Peak,"  said  one 
of  them,  in  reply  to  Mr.  Rushleigh's  question.  "  She  has  n't 
been  well  for  some  days,  but  she 's  kept  on  at  her  work 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.       25o 

and  the  heat,  to-day,  was  too  much  for  her.  She  'd  ought 
to  be  got  home,  if  there  was  any  way.  She  can't  ever 
walk." 

"I'll  take  her,  myself,"  said  the  mill-owner,  promptly. 
"  Keep  her  quiet  here  a  minute  or  two,  while  I  go  in  and 
speak  to  Blasland." 

But  first  he  turned  to  Faith  again.  "  What  shall  I  do 
with  you,  my  child  ?  " 

"Dear  Mr.  Rushleigh,"  said  she,  with  all  her  gratitude 
for  his  just  spoken  kindness  to  herself  and  her  appreciation 
of  his  ready  sympathy  for  the  poor  work-girl,  in  her  voice, 
—  "  don't  think  of  me  !  It 's  lovely  out  there  over  the  foot 
bridge,  and  in  the  fields;  and  that  way,  the  distance  is 
nearly  nothing  to  Aunt  Faith's.  I  should  like  the  walk,  — 
really." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Rushleigh.  "I  believe  you 
would.  Then  I  '11  take  Mary  Grover  up  to  the  Peak." 

And  he  shook  her  hand,  and  left  her  standing  there,  and 
went  up  into  the  mill. 

Two  of  the  girls  who  had  come  out  with  Mary  Grover, 
followed  him  and  returned  to  their  work.  One,  sitting  with 
her  in  the  door-way,  on  one  of  the  upper  steps,  and  sup 
porting  her  yet  dizzy  head  upon  her  shoulder,  remained. 

Faith  asked  if  she  could  do  anything,  and  was  answered, 
no,  with  thanks. 

She  turned  away,  then,  and  walked  over  the  planking 
above  the  race-way,  toward  the  river,  where  a  pretty  little 
foot-bridge  crossed  it  here,  from  the  end  of  the  mill-building. 

Against  this  end,  projected,  on  this  side,  a  square,  tower- 
like  appendage  to  the  main  structure,  around  which  one 
must  pass  to  reach  the  foot-bridge.  A  door  at  the  base 
opened  upon  a  staircase,  leading  up.  This  was  the  entrance 


256      FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

to  Mr.  Rushleigh's  "  sanctum,"  above,  which  communicated, 
also,  with  the  second  story  of  the  mill. 

Here  Faith  paused.  She  caught,  from  around  the  corner, 
a  sound  of  the  angry  voices  of  men. 

"  I  tell  you,  I  '11  stay  here  till  I  see  the  boss ! " 

"  I  tell  you,  the  boss  won't  see  you.  lie  's  done  with 
jou." 

"  Let  him  be  done  with  me,  then ;  and  not  go  spoiling 
my  chance  with  other  people  !  I  '11  see  it  out  with  him, 
somehow,  yet." 

"Better  not  threaten.  He  won't  go  out  of  his  way  to 
meddle  with  you ;  only  it 's  no  use  your  sending  anybody 
here  after  a  character.  He 's  one  of  the  sort  that  speaks 
the  truth  and  shames  the  devil." 

"I '11  let  him  know  he  aint  boss  of  the  whole  country 
round !  D— d  if  I  don't ! " 

Faith  turned  away  from  hearing  more  of  this,  and  from 
facing  the  speakers ;  and  took  refuge  up  the  open  staircase. 

Above,  —  in  the  quiet  little  counting-room,  shut  off  by 
double  doors  at  the  right  from  the  great  loom-chamber  of 
the  mill,  and  opening  at  the  front  by  a  wide  window  upon 
the  river  that  ran  tumbling  and  flashing  below,  spanned  by 
the  graceful  little  bridge  that  reached  the  green  slope  of 
the  field  beyond,  —  it  was  so  cool  and  pleasant,  —  so  still 
with  continuous  and  softened  sound,  — that  Faith  sat  down 
upon  the  comfortable  sofa  there,  to  rest,  to  think,  to  be 
alone,  a  little. 

She  had  Paul's  letter  in  her  pocket ;  she  had  his  father's 
words  fresh  upon  ear  and  heart.  A  strange  peace  came 
over  her,  as  she  placed  herself  here ;  as  if,  somehow,  a  way 
was  soon  to  be  opened  and  made  clear  to  her.  As  if  she 
should  come  to  know  herself,  and  to  be  brave  to  act  as  God 
should  show  her  how 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.      '.61 

She  heard,  presently,  Mr.  Kushleigh's  voice  in  the  mill- 
yard,  and  then  the  staircase  door  closed  and  locked  below. 
Thinking  that  he  should  be  here  no  more,  to-night,  he  had 
shut  and  fastened  it. 

It  was  IK»  natter.  She  would  go  through  the  mill,  by- 
aiid-by,  and  look  at  the  looms ;  and  so  out,  and  over  the 
river,  then,  to  Aunt  Faith,* 

22* 


CHAPTER  XXVI  II. 


LOCKED    IN. 


"  How  idle  it  is  to  call  certain  thinjrs  godsends  !  as  if  there  weie  any 
g  eJse  in  the  world."  HAKE. 


IT  13  accounted  a  part  of  the  machinery  of  invention 
when,  in  a  story,  several  coincident  circumstances,  that  apart, 
would  have  had  no  noticeable  result,  bear  down  together, 
with  a  nice  and  sure  calculation  upon  some  catastrophe  or 
denouement  that  develops  itself  therefrom. 

Does  not  God  work  out  our  human  fate  by  the  bee-linea 
of  His  Providence  ?  From  points  afar  and  seemingly  sep 
arate,  the  threads  of  agency  begin.  And,  straight  to  one 
fore-ordered  purpose,  move  on,  undeviatingly,  as  we  trace 
them,  to  the  converging  point,  where  the  divine  meaning 
and  plan  shall  be  consummated. 

God,  —  let  it  be  said  reverently,  —  is  the  Great  Novelist, 
and  Architect  of  circumstance.  When  we  see  the  lives  of 
men,  that  he  writes  out  daily,  in  actual  fact,  about  us,  can 
we  think,  for  an  instant,  that  our  poor  imagining  and  con 
triving  can  go  beyond  His  infinite  possibilities,  —  His  hourly 
accomplishments?  Can  transcend,  by  any  ingenuity,  Hia 
groupings  and  combinings,  when  a  thing  is  willed  to  be  ? 

Last  night,  a  man,  —  an  employe  in  Mr.  Eushleigh's  fac 
tory;  —  had  been  kept  awake  by  one  of  his  children,  taken 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.       259 

suddenly  ill.  A  slight  matter,  —  but  it  has  to  do  with  our 
story. 

Last  night,  also,  Faith,  —  Paul's  second  letter  just  re 
ceived,  —  had  lain  sleepless  for  hours,  fighting  the  old  battle 
over,  darkly,  of  doubt,  pity,  half-love,  and  indecision.  She 
had  felt,  or  had  thought  she  felt,  —  thus,  or  so,  —  in  the 
days  that  were  past.  Why  could  she  not  be  sure  of  her 
feeling  now  ? 

The  new  wine  in  the  old  bottles,  —  the  new  cloth  in  the 
old  garment,  —  these,  in  Faith's  life,  were  at  variance. 
What  satisfied  once,  satisfied  no  longer.  Was  she  to  blame? 
VVhat  ought  she  to  do  ?  There  was  a  seething  —  a  rending. 
Jfoor  heart,  that  was  likely  to  be  burst  and  torn,  —  won- 
ieringly,  helplessly,  —  in  the  half- comprehended  struggle! 

So  it  happened,  that,  tired  with  all  this,  sore  with  its 
daily  pressure  and  recurrence,  this  moment  of  strange  peace 
oarne  over  her,  and  soothed  her  into  rest. 

She  laid  herself  back,  there,  on  the  broad,  soft,  old-fash 
ioned  sofa,  and  with  the  river  breeze  upon  her  brow,  and  the 
song  of  its  waters  in  her  ears,  and  the  deadened  hum  of 
the  factory  rumbling  on,  —  she  fell  asleep. 

A  heavy  sleep  it  was ;  as  if  some  waiting  angel  bore  her 
soul  a-rfaj,  away,  — far  off  from  all  earthly  sound  and  asso 
ciation,  —  «nd  left  her  body  there  to  utter  rest. 

And  so,  —  strangely,  perhaps,  but  it  was  so,  —  the  fac 
tory-bell,  at  tile  far  end  of  the  long  building,  sent  its  clang 
out  on  the  air  that  seized  and  bore  it  from  the  river,  and 
the  busy  operatives  hurried  out  from  their  place  of  toil, 
and  streamed  m  long  lines  homeward,  and  the  rumbling 
hushed,  and  left  un/y  the  noise  of  falling  and  rushing 
waters  in  her  ears,  —  and  still  Faith  slumbered  on. 

How  long  it  had  been,  she  could  not  tell ;  she  knew  not 


200       FAITH    GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

whether  it  were  evening,  or  midnight,  or  near  the  morning  ; 
but  she  felt  cold  and  cramped ;  everything  save  the  busy 
river  was  still,  and  the  daylight  was  all  gone,  and  stars  out 
bright  in  the  deep,  moonless  sky,  when  she  awoke. 

Awoke,  bewilderedly,  and  came  slowly  to  the  comprehen 
sion  that  she  was  here  alone.  That  it  was  night,  —  that 
nobody  could  know  it,  —  that  she  was  locked  up  here,  in 
the  great  dreary  mill. 

She  raised  herself  upon  the  sofa,  and  sat  in  a  terrified 
amaze.  She  took  out  her  watch,  and  tried  to  see,  by  the 
starlight,  the  time.  The  slender  black  hands  upon  its 
golden  face  were  invisible.  It  ticked,  —  it  was  going.  She 
knew,  by  that,  it  could  not  be  far  beyond  midnight,  at  the 
most.  She  was  chilly,  in  her  white  dress,  from  the  night 
air.  She  went  to  the  open  window,  and  looked  out  from  it, 
before  she  drew  it  down.  Away,  over  the  fields,  and  up 
and  down  the  river,  all  was  dark,  solitary. 

Nobody  knew  it,  —  she  was  here  alone. 

She  shut  the  window,  softly,  afraid  of  the  sounds  her 
self  might  make.  She  opened  the  double  doors  from  the 
counting-room,  and  stood  on  the  outer  threshold,  and  looked 
into  the  mill.  The  heavy  looms  were  still.  They  stood 
like  great,  dead  creatures,  smitten  in  the  midst  of  busy 
motion.  There  was  an  awfulness  in  being  here,  the  only 
breathing,  moving  ining,  —  in  darkness,  —  where  so  lately 
had  been  the  deafening  hum  of  rolling  wheels,  and  clanking 
shafts,  and  flying  shuttles,  and  busy,  moving  human  figures. 
It  was  as  if  the  world  itself  were  stopped,  and  she  forgotten 
on  its  mighty,  silent  corse. 

Should  she  find  her  way  to  the  great  bell,  ring  it,  and 
make  an  alarm  ?  She  thought  of  this ;  and  then  she  reasoned 
with  herself  that  she  was  hardly  so  badly  off,  as  to  justify 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.       261 

her,  quite,  in  doing  that.  It  would  rouse  the  village,  it 
would  bring  Mr.  Eushleigh  down,  perhaps,  —  it  would 
cause  a  terrible  alarm.  And  all  that  she  might  be  spared 
a  few  hours  longer  of  loneliness  and  discomfort.  She  was 
safe.  It  would  soon  be  morning.  The  mill  would  be  opened 
early.  She  would  go  back  to  the  sofa,  and  try  to  sleep 
again.  Nobody  could  be  anxious  about  her.  The  Eush- 
leighs  supposed  her  to  be  at  Cross  Corners.  Her  aunt 
would  think  her  detained  at  Lakeside.  It  was  really  no 
great  matter.  She  would  be  brave,  and  quiet. 

So  she  shut  the  double  doors  again,  and  found  a  coat  of 
Paul's,  or  Mr.  Eushleigh's,  in  the  closet  of  the  counting- 
room,  and  lay  down  upon  the  sofa,  covering  herself  with 
that. 

For  an  hour  or  more,  her  heart  throbbed,  her  nerves  were 
excited,  she  could  not  sleep.  But  at  last  she  grew  calmer, 
her  thought  wandered  from  her  actual  situation,  —  became 
indistinct,  —  and  slumber  held  her  again,  dreamily. 

There  was  another  sleeper,  also,  in  the  mill  whom  Faith 
knew  nothing  of. 

Michael  Garvin,  the  night-watchman,  —  the  same  whose 
child  had  been  ill  the  night  before,  —  when  Faith  came  out 
into  the  loom-chamber,  had  left  it  but  a  few  minutes,  going 
his  silent  round  within  the  building,  and  recording  his  faith 
fulness  by  the  half-hour  pin  upon  the  watch-clock.  Six 
times  .he  had  done  this,  already.  It  was  half-past  ten. 

He  had  gone  up,  now,  by  the  stairs  from  the  weaving- 
room,  into  the  third  story.  These  stairs  ascended  at  the 
front,  from  within  the  chamber. 

Michael  Garvin  went  on  nearly  to  the  end  of  the  room 
above,  —  stopped,  and  looked  out  at  a  window.  All  stili, 
»11  safe  apparently. 


262      FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

He  was  very  tired.  What  harm  in  lying  down 
vhere  in  a  corner,  for  five  minutes  ?  He  need  not  shut  hi& 
eyes.  He  rolled  his  coat  up  for  a  pillow,  and  threw  it 
against  the  wall  beneath  the  window.  The  next  instant 
he  had  stretched  his  stalwart  limbs  along  the  floor,  and 
define  ten  minutes  of  his  seventh  half  hour  were  epent, — 
long  before  Faith,  who  thought  herself  all  alone  in  the  great 
ouilding,  had  lost  consciousness  of  her  strange  position,  — 
fie  was  fast  asleep. 

Fast  asleep,  here,  in  the  third  story ! 

So,  since  the  days  of  the  disciples,  men  have  grown 
heavy  and  forgotten  their  trust.  So  they  have  slumbered 
upon  decks,  at  sea.  So  sentinels  have  lain  down  at  picket- 
posts,  though  they  knew  the  purchase  of  that  hour  of  rest 
might  be  the  leaden  death  ! 

Faith  Gartney  dreamed,  uneasily. 

She  thought  herself  wandering,  at  night,  through  the 
deserted  streets  of  a  great  city.  She  seemed  to  have  come 
from  somewhere  afar  off,  and  to  have  no  place  to  go  to. 

Up  and  down,  through  avenues  sometimes  half  familiar, 
sometimes  wholly  unknown,  she  went  wearily,  without  aim, 
or  end,  or  hope.  "  Tired !  tired !  tired  !  "  she  seemed  to 
say  to  herself.  "  Xowhere  to  rest,  —  nobody  to  take  care 
of  me ! " 

Then,  — city,  streets?,  and  houses  disappeared ;  the  scenery 
>f  her  dream  rolled  away,  and  opened  out,  and  she  was 
standing  on  a  high,  bare  cliff,  away  up  in  wintry  air  ;  threat 
ening  rocky  avalanches  overhanging  her,  —  chill  winds 
piercing  her,  —  and  no  pathway  visible  downward.  Still 
crying  out  in  loneliness  and  fear.  Still  with  none  to  com 
fort  or  to  help. 

Standing  on  the  sheer  edge  of  the  precipice,  —  behind 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.       263 

her,  suddenly,  a  crater  opened.  A  hissing  breath  came  up, 
and  the  chill  air  quivered  and  scorched  about  her.  Her 
feet  were  upon  a  volcano !  A  lake  of  boiling,  molten  stone 
heaved,  —  huge,  brazen,  bubbling,  —  spreading  wider  and 
wider,  like  a  great  earth-ulcer,  eating  in  its  own  brink  con- 
cinually.  Up  in  the  air  over  her,  reared  a  vast,  sulphur 
ous  canopy  of  smoke.  The  narrowing  ridge  beneath  her 
feet  burned,  —  trembled.  She  hovered  between  two  de 
structions. 

Instantly,  —  in  that  throbbing,  agonizing  moment  of  her 
dream,  just  after  which  one  wakes,  —  she  felt  a  presence,  — 
she  heard  a  call,  —  she  thought  two  arms  were  stretched 
out  toward  her,  —  there  seemed  a  safety  and  a  rest  near  by ; 
she  was  borne  by  an  unseen  impulse,  along  the  dizzy  ridge 
that  her  feet  scarce  touched,  toward  it ;  she  was  taken, — 
folded,  held ;  smoke,  fire,  the  threatening  danger  of  the  cliff, 
were  nothing,  suddenly,  any  more.  Whether  they  menaced 
still,  she  thought  not ;  a  voice  she  knew  and  trusted  was  in 
her  ear ;  a  grasp  of  loving  strength  sustained  her ;  she  was 
utterly  secure. 

So  vividly  she  felt  the  presence, — so  warm  and  sure 
seemed  that  love  and  strength  about  her,  —  that  waking  out 
of  such  pause  of  peace,  before  her  senses  recognized  any 
thing  that  was  real  without,  she  stretched  her  hands,  as  if 
to  find  it  at  her  side,  and  her  lips  breathed  a  name,  —  the 
name  of  Eoger  Armstrong. 

Then  she  started  to  her  feet  The  kind,  protecting  pr&s- 
ence  faded  back  into  her  dream. 

The  horrible  smoke,  the  scorching  smell,  were  true. 

A  glare  smote  sky  and  trees  and  water,  as  she  saw  them 
from  the  window. 

There  was  fire  near  her  1 


264      FAITH    GARTtfEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

Could  it  be  among  the  buildings  of  the  mill  ? 

The  long,  main  structure  ran  several  feet  beyond  the 
square  projection  within  which  she  stood.  Upon  the  other 
side,  close  to  the  front,  quite  away,  of  course,  from  all  obser 
vation  hence,  joined,  at  right  angles,  another  building, 
communicating  and  forming  one  with  the  first.  Here  were 
the  carding  rooms.  Then  beyond,  detached,  were  houses 
for  storage  and  other  purposes  connected  with  the  business. 

Was  it  from  one  of  these  the  glare  and  smoke  and  suffo 
cating  burning  smell  were  pouring  ? 

Or,  lay  the  danger  nearer,  —  within  these  close,  contigu 
ous  walls  ? 

Vainly  she  threw  up  the  one  window,  and  leaned  forth. 

She  could  not  tell 

/Lt  this  moment,  Koger  Armstrong,  also,  woke  from  out  a 
dream. 

in  this  strange,  second  life  of  ours,  that  replaces  the  life 
of  aay,  do  we  not  meet  interiorly  ?  Do  not  thoughts  and 
knowledges  cross,  from  spirit  to  spirit,  over  the  abyss,  that 
lip,  and  eye,  and  ear,  in  waking  moments,  neither  send  nor 
receive?  That  ^ven  mind  itself  is  scarcely  conscious  of ? 
Is  not  the  great  deep  of  being,  wherein  we  rest,  electric  with 
a  sympathetic  life,  —  and  do  not  warnings  and  promises  and 
cheer  pulse  in  upon  us,  mysteriously,  in  these  passive  hours 
of  the  flesh,  when  soul  only  is  awake  and  keen  ? 

Do  not  two  thoughts,  two  consciousnesses,  call  and  answer 
to  each  other,  mutely,  in  twin  dreams  of  night  ? 

Eoger  Armstrong  cajie  in,  late,  that  evening,  from  a  visit 
to  a  distant  sick  parishioner.  Then  he  sat,  writing,  for  an 
oour  or  two  longer. 

By-and-by  he  threw  down  his  pen,  —  pushed   back  hia 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.       265 

arm-chair  before  his  window,  —  stretched  his  feet,  wearily, 
into  the  deep,  old-fashioned  window-seat,  —  leaned  his  head 
back,  and  let  the  cool  breeze  stir  his  hair. 

So  it  soothed  him  into  sleep. 

He  dreamed  of  Faith.  He  dreamed  he  saw  her  stand, 
afar  off,  in  some  solitary  place,  and  beckon,  as  it  were,  visibly, 
from  a  wide,  invisible  distance.  He  dreamed  he  struggled 
to  obey  her  summons.  He  battled  with  the  strange  inertia 
of  sleep.  He  strove,  —  he  gasped, — he  broke  the  spell 
and  hastened  on.  He  plunged, — he  climbed, — he  stood 
in  a  great  din  that  bewildered  and  threatened  ;  there  was  a 
lurid  light  that  glowed  intense  about  him  as  he  went ;  in 
the-  midst  of  all,  —  beyond,  —  she  beckoned  still. 

"  Faith  !  Faith !     What  danger  is  about  you,  child  ?  " 

These  words  broke  forth  from  him  aloud,  as  he  started  to 
his  feet,  and  stretched  hi**  hands,  impulsively,  out  before 
him,  toward  the  open  window. 

His  eyes  flashed  wide  upon  that  crimson  glare  that  flooded 
sky  and  field  and  river. 

There  was  fire  at  the  mills ! 

Not  a  sound,  yet,  from  the  sleeping  village. 

The  heavy,  close-fitting  double  doors  between  the  count 
ing-room  and  the  great  mill-chamber  were  shut.  Only  by 
opening  these  and  venturing  forth,  could  Faith  gain  certain 
knowledge  of  her  situation. 

Once  more  she  pulled  them  open  and  passed  through. 

A  blinding  smoke  rushed  thick  about  her,  and  made  her 
gasp  for  breath.  Up  through  the  belt-holes  in  the  floor, 
toward  the  farther  end  of  the  long  room,  sprang  little 
tongues  of  flame  that  leaped  higher  and  higher,  even  while 
she  strove  for  sight,  that  single,  horrified,  suffocating  instant, 

23 


266       FAITH    G^LRTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

and  gleamed,  mockingly,  upon  the  burnished  shafts  of  silent 
looms. 

In  at  the  windows  on  the  left,  came  the  vengeful  shine 
of  those  other  windows,  at  right  angles,  in  the  adjacent 
building.  The  carding-rooms,  and  the  whole  front  of  the 
mill,  below,  were  all  in  flames ! 

In  frantic  affright,  in  choking  agony,  Faith  dashed  herself 
back  through  the  heavy  doors,  that  swung  on  springs,  and 
closed  tightly  once  more  after  her. 

Here,  at  the  open  window,  she  took  breath.  Must  she 
wait  here,  helpless,  for  the  fiery  death  ? 

Down  below  her,  the  narrow  brink.  —  the  rushing  river. 
No  foothold,  —  no  chance  for  a  descent.  Behind  her,  only 
those  two  doors,  barring  out  flame  and  smoke ! 

And  the  little  foot-bridge,  lying  in  the  light  across  the 
water,  and  the  green  fields,  stretching  away,  cool  and  safe 
beyond.  A  little  farther  —  her  home  1 

"  Fire ! " 

She  cried  the  fearful  word  out  upon  the  night,  uselessly. 
There  was  no  one  near.  The  village  slumbered  on,  awaj 
there  to  the  left.  The  strong,  deep  shout  of  a  man  might 
reach  it,  but  no  tone  of  hera  There  were  no  completed  or 
occupied  dwelling-houses,  as  yet,  about  the  new  mills.  'Mr. 
Rushleigh  was  putting  up  some  blocks ;  but,  for  the  present, 
there  was  nothing  nearer  than  the  village  proper  of  Kinui- 
cutt  on  the  one  hand,  and  as  far,  or  farther,  on  the  other 
the  houses  at  Lakeside. 

The  flames  themselves,  alone,  could  signal  her  danger,  auu 
summon  help.  How  long  would  it  be  first  ? 

Thoughts  of  father,  mother,  and  little  brother,  — thoughts 
of  the  kind  friends  at  Lakeside,  parted  from  but  a  few  hours 
before,  —  thoughts  of  the  young  lover  to  whom  the  answer 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.       267 

he  waited  for  should  be  given,  perhaps,  so  awfully ;  — 
through  all,  lighting,  as  it  were,  suddenly  and  searchingly, 
the  deep  places  of  her  own  soul,  the  thought,  —  the  feeling, 
rather,  of  that  presence  in  her  dream ;  of  him  who  had  led 
her,  taught  her,  lifted  her  so,  to  high  things; — brought 
her  nearer,  by  his  ministry,  to  God !  Of  all  human  influ 
ence  or  love,  his  was  nearest  and  strongest,  spiritually,  to 
her,  now! 

All  at  once,  across  these  surging,  crowding,  agonizing 
feelings,  rushed  an  inspiration  for  the  present  moment. 

The  water-gate !    The  force-pump ! 

The  apparatus  for  working  these  lay  at  this  end  of  the 
building.  She  had  been  shown  the  method  of  its  operation ; 
they  had  explained  to  her  its  purpose.  It  was  perfectly 
simple.  Only  the  drawing  of  a  rope  over  a  pulley,  —  the 
turning  of  a  faucet.  She  could  do  it,  if  she  could  only 
reach  the  spot. 

Instantly  and  strangely,  the  cloud  of  terror  seemed  to  roll 
away.  Her  faculties  cleared.  Her  mind  was  all  alert  and 
quickened.  She  thought  of  things  she  had  heard  of  years 
before,  and  long  forgotten.  That  a  wet  cloth  about  the  face 
would  defend  from  smoke.  That  down  low,  close  to  the 
floor,  was  always  a  current  of  fresher  air. 

She  turned  a  faucet  that  supplied  a  basin  in  the  counting- 
room,  held  her  handkerchief  to  it,  and  saturated  it  with  water. 
Then  she  tied  it  across  her  forehead,  letting  it  hang  before 
her  face  like  a  veil.  She  caught  a  fold  of  it  between  her 
teeth. 

And  so,  opening  the  doors  between  whose  cracks  the  pent- 
up  smoke  was  curling,  she  passed  through,  crouching  down, 
ttnd  crawled  along  the  end  of  the  chamber,  toward  the  great 
rope  in  the  opposite  corner. 


268       FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

The  fire  was  creeping  thitherward,  also,  to  meet  her 
Along  from  the  front,  down  the  chamber  on  the  opposite  side, 
the  quick  flames  sprang  and  flashed,  momently  higher,  catch- 
ing  already,  here  and  there,  from  point  to  point,  where  an 
oiled  belt  or  an  unfinished  web  of  cloth  attracted  their  hun- . 
gry  tongues. 

As  yet,  they  were  like  separate  skirmishers,  sent  out  in 
advance  ;  their  mighty  force  not  yet  gathered  and  rolled 
together  in  such  terrible  sheet  and  volume  as  raged  beneath. 

She  reached  the  corner  where  hung  the  rope. 

Close  by,  was  the  faucet  in  the  main  pipe  fed  by  the 
force-pump.  Underneath  it,  lay  a  coil  of  hose,  attached 
and  ready. 

She  turned  the  faucet,  and  laid  hold  of  the  long  rope. 
A  few  pulls,  and  she  heard  the  dashing  of  the  water  far 
below.  The  great  wheel  was  turning. 

The  pipes  filled.  She  lifted  the  end  of  the  coiled  hose, 
and  directed  it  toward  the  forward  part  of  the  chamber, 
where  flames  were  wreathing,  climbing,  flashing.  An  im 
petuous  column  of  water  rushed,  eager,  hissing,  upon 
blazing  wood  and  heated  iron. 

Still  keeping  the  hose  in  her  grasp,  she  crawled  back 
again,  half  stifled,  yet  a  new  hope  of  life  aroused  within 
her,  to  the  double  doors.  Before  these,  with  the  little 
counting-room  behind  her,  as  her  last  refuge,  she  took  her 
stand. 

How  long  could  she  fight  off  death  ?     Till  help  came  ? 

All  this  had  been  done  and  thought  quickly.  There 
had  been  less  time  than  she  would  have  believed,  since  she 
first  woke  to  the  knowledge  of  this,  her  horrible  peril. 

The  flames  were  already  repulsed.  The  mill  was  being 
flooded.  Down  the  belt-holes  thv  wuter  poured  upon  the 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.      269 

fiercer  blaze  below,  that  swept  across  the  forward  and  cen 
tral  part  of  the  great  spinning-room,  from  side  to  side. 

At  this  moment,  a  cry,  close  at  hand. 

"  Fire  ! " 

A  man  was  swaying  by  a  rope,  down  from  a  third-story 
window. 

"  Fire ! "  came  again,  instantly,  from  without,  upon 
another  side. 

It  was  a  voice  hoarse,  excited,  strained.  A  tone  Faith 
had  never  heard  before;  yet  she  knew,  by  a  mysterious 
intuition,  from  whom  it  came.  She  dropped  the  hose,  still 
pouring  out  its  torrent,  to  the  floor,  and  sprang  back, 
through  the  doors,  to  the  counting-room  window.  The 
voice  came  from  the  river-side. 

A  man  was  dashing  down  the  green  slope,  upon  the  foot 
bridge. 

Faith  stretched  her  arms  out,  as  a  child  might,  wakened 
in  pain  and  terror.  A  cry,  in  which  were  uttered  the  fear, 
the  horror,  that  were  now  first  fully  felt,  as  a  possible 
safety  appeared,  and  the  joy,  that  itself  came  like  a  sudden 
pang,  escaped  her,  piercingly,  thrillingly. 

Koger  Armstrong  looked  upward  as  he  sprang  upon  the 
bridge. 

He  caught  the  cry.  He  saw  Faith  stand  there,  in  her 
white  dress,  that  had  been  wet  and  blackened  in  her  bat 
tling  with  the  fire. 

A  great  soul-glance  of  courage  and  resolve  flashed  from 
bis  eyes.  He  reached  his  uplifted  arms  toward  her, 
answering  hers.  He  uttered  not  a  word. 

"Round!  round!"  cried  Faith.  "The  door  upon  the 
other  side ! " 

Boger  Armstrong,  leaping  to  the  spot,  and  Michael  Gar- 

23* 


270       FAITH  GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

vin,  escaped  by  the  long  rope  that  hung  vibrating  from  hia 
grasp,  down  the  brick  wall  of  the  building,  met  at  the 
staircase  door. 

"  Help  me  drive  that  in  !  "  cried  the  minister. 

And  the  two  men  threw  their  stalwart  shoulders  against 
the  barrier,  forcing  lock  and  hinges. 

Up  the  stairs  rushed  Eoger  Armstrong. 

Answering  the  crash  of  the  falling  door,  came  another 
and  more  fearful  crash  within. 

Gnawed  by  the  fire,  the  timbers  and  supports  beneath 
the  forward  portion  of  the  second  floor  had  given  way, 
and  the  heavy  looms  that  stood  there  had  gone  plunging 
down.  A  horrible  volume  of  smoke  and  steam  poured 
upward,  with  the  flames,  from  out  the  chasm,  and  rushed, 
resistlessly,  everywhere. 

Eoger  Armstrong  dashed  into  the  little  counting-room. 
Faith  lay  there,  on  the  floor.  At  that  fearful  crash,  that 
rush  of  suffocating  smoke,  she  had  fallen,  senseless.  He 
seized  her,  frantically,  in  his  arms  to  bear  her  down. 

"  Faith  !  Faith  !  "  he  cried,  when  she  neither  spoke  nor 
moved.  "  My  darling  !  Are  you  hurt  ?  Are  you  killed  ? 
Oh,  my  God !  must  there  be  another  ?  " 

Faith  did  not  hear  these  words,  uttered  with  all  the 
passionate  agony  of  a  man  who  would  hold  the  woman  he 
loves  to  his  heart,  and  defy  for  her  even  death. 

She  came  to  herself  in  the  open  air.  She  felt  herself  in 
his  arms.  She  only  heard  him  say,  tenderly  and  anxiously, 
in  something  of  his  old  tone,  as  her  consciousness  returned, 
and  he  saw  it,  — 

"  My  dear  child  ! " 

But  she  knew  then  all  that  had  been  a  mystery  to  her 
in  herself  before. 


FAITH  GARTNEY  S   GIRLHOOD.       27i 

She  knew  that  she  loved  Roger  Armstrong.  That  it  was 
not  a  love  of  gratitude  and  reverence,  only ;  but  that  her 
very  soul  was  rendered  up  to  him,  involuntarily,  as  a 
woman  renders  herself  but  once.  That  she  would  rather 
have  died  there,  in  that  flame  and  smoke,  held  in  his 
arms,  —  gathered  to  his  heart,  —  than  have  lived  whatever 
life  of  ease  and  pleasantness,  —  aye,  even  of  use,  —  with 
any  other  !  She  knew  that  her  thought,  in  those  terrible 
moments  before  he  came,  had  been,  —  not  father's  or 
mother's,  only ;  not  her  young  lover,  Paul's ;  but,  deepest 
»nd  mostly,  hisi 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

HOME. 

The  joy  that  knows  there  is  a  joy  — 
That  scents  its  breath,  and  cries,  't  is  there  » 

And,  patient  in  its  pure  repose, 
Eeceiveth  so  the  holier  share. 

FAITH'S  thought  and  courage  saved  the  mill  from  uttel 
destruction. 

For  one  fearful  moment,  when  that  forward  portion  oi 
the  loom-floor  fell  through,  and  flame,  and  vapor,  and  smoke 
rioted  together  in  a  wild  alliance  of  fury,  all  seemed  lost 
But  the  great  water-wheel  was  plying  on  ;  the  river  fought 
the  fire ;  the  rushing,  exhaustless  streams  were  pouring  out 
and  down,  everywhere ;  and  the  crowd  that  in  a  few  moments 
after  the  first  alarm,  and  Faith's  rescue,  gathered  at  the 
spot,  found  its  work  half  done. 

A  little  later,  there  were  only  sullen  smoke,  defeated, 
smouldering  fires,  blackened  timbers,  the  burned  carding- 
rooms,  and  the  ruin  at  the  front,  to  tell  the  awful  story  of 
the  night. 

Mr.  Armstrong  had  earned  Faith  into  one  of  the  unfin 
ished  factory  houses.  Here  he  was  obliged  to  leave  her 
for  a  few  moments,  after  making  such  a  rude  couch  for  her 
as  was  possible,  with  a  pile  of  clean  shavings,  and  his  own 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.      273 

coat,  which  he  insisted,  against  all  her  remonstrances,  upon 
spreading  above  them. 

"  The  first  horse  and  vehicle  which  comes,  Miss  Faith,  1 
shall  impress  for  your  service,"  he  said ;  "  and  to  do  that  I 
must  leave  you.  I  have  made  that  frightened  watchman 
promise  to  say  nothing,  at  present,  of  your  being  here ;  so 
I  trust  the  crowd  may  not  annoy  you.  I  shall  not  be  gone 
long,  nor  far  away." 

The  first  horse  and  vehicle  which  came  was  the  one  that 
had  brought  her  there  in  the  afternoon  but  just  past,  yet 
that  seemed,  strangely,  to  have  been  so  long  ago, 

Mr.  Kushleigh  found  her  lying  here,  quiet,  amid  the 
growing  tumult,  —  exhausted,  patient,  waiting. 

"  My  little  Faithie  ! "  he  cried,  coming  up  to  her  with 
hands  outstretched,  and  a  quiver  of  strong  feeling  in  his 
voice.  "  To  think  that  you  should  have  been  in  this  hor 
rible  danger,  and  we  all  lying  in  our  beds,  asleep  !  I  do 
not  quite  understand  it  all.  You  must  tell  me,  by-and-by. 
Armstrong  has  told  me  what  you  have  done.  You  have 
saved  me  half  my  property  here,  —  do  you  know  it,  child  ? 
Can  I  ever  thank  you  for  your  courage  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Kushleigh  !"  cried  Faith,  rising  as  he  came  to 
her,  and  holding  her  hands  to  his,  "  don't  thank  me  !  and 
don't  wait  here !  They  '11  want  you,  —  and,  oh  !  my  kind 
friend!  there  will  be  nothing  to  thank  me  for,  when  I 
have  told  you  what  I  must.  I  have  been  very  near  to  death, 
and  I  have  seen  life  so  clearly !  I  know  now  what  I  did 
not  know  yesterday,  —  ^hat  I  could  not  answer  you  then ! " 

"  Let  it  be  as  it  may,  I  am  sure  it  will  be  right  and  true, 
and  I  shall  honor  you,  Faith !  And  we  must  bear  what  is, 
for  it  has  come  of  the  will  of  God,  and  not  by  any  fault  of 
yours.  Now,  let  me  take  you  home." 


SJ74       FAITH  GARTNET'S  GIRLHOOD. 

"  May  I  do  that  in  your  stead,  Mr.  Rushleigh  ?  "  astefl 
Roger  Armstrong,  who  entered  at  this  moment,  with  gar 
ments  he  had  brought  from  somewhere  to  wrap  Faith. 

"  I  must  go  home,"  said  Faith.    "  To  Aunt  Henderson's." 

"  You  shall  do  as  you  like,"  answered  Mr.  Rushleigh. 
"  But  it  belongs  to  us  to  care  for  you,  I  think." 

"You  do,  —  you  have  cared  for  me  already,"  said  Faith 
earnestly. 

And  Mr.  Rushleigh  helped  to  wrap  her  up,  and  kissed 
her  forehead  tenderly,  and  Roger  Armstrong  lifted  her  into 
the  chaise,  and  seated  himself  by  her,  and  drove  her  away 
from  out  the  smoke  and  noise  and  curious  crowd  that  had 
begun  to  find  out  she  was  there,  and  that  she  had  been  shut 
up  in  the  mill,  and  had  saved  herself  and  stopped  the  fire  ; 
and  would  have  made  her  as  uncomfortable  as  crowds 
always  do  heroes  or  heroines,  —  had  it  not  been  for  the 
friend  beside  her,  whose  foresight  and  precaution  had 
warded  it  all  off. 

And  the  mill-owner  went  back  among  the  villagers  and 
firemen,  to  direct  their  efforts  for  his  property. 

Glory  McWhirk  had  been  up  and  watching  the  great  fire, 
since  Roger  Armstrong  first  went  out. 

She  had  seen  it  from  the  window  of  Miss  Henderson's 
room,  where  she  was  to  sleep  to-night ;  and  had  first  care 
fully  lowered  the  blinds  lest  the  light  should  waken  her 
mistress,  who,  after  suffering  much  pain,  had  at  length,  by 
the  help  of  an  anodyne,  fallen  asleep ;  and  then  she  had 
come  round  softly  to  the  southwest  room,  to  call  the  minister. 

The  door  stood  open,  and  she  saw  him  sitting  in  his 
itair,  asleep.  Just  as  she  crossed  the  threshold  to  come 
toward  him,  fie  started,  and  spoke  those  words  out  of  his 
restless  dream. 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.       275 

"  Faith  !  Faith !    What  danger  is  about  you,  child  ?  " 

They  were  instinct*  with  his  love.  They  were  eager 
with  his  visionary  fear.  It  only  needed  a  human  heart 
to  interpret  them. 

Glory  drew  back  as  he  sprang  to  his  .feet,  and  noiselessly 
disappeared.  She  would  not  have  him  know  that  she  had 
heard  this  cry  with  which  he  waked. 

"  He  dreamed  about  her !  and  he  called  her  Faith.  How 
beautiful  it  is  to  be  cared  for  so ! " 

Glory,  —  while  we  have  so  long  been  following  Faith,  — 
had  no  less  been  living  on  her  own,  peculiar,  inward  life, 
that  reached  to,  that  apprehended,  that  seized  ideally, — 
that  was  denied,  so  much  ! 

God  leads  gome  through  life  toward  Himself,  as  a  mother 
wins  a  child,  making  its  first  feeble  steps ;  with  good  held 
always  in  sight,  and  always  out  beyond  the  grasp.  There 
are  those,  who  perceiving,  longing,  falling  short,  continually 
put  off,  still  struggle  on  and  keep  the  best  in  view.  There 
are  those  again,  who  sit  down,  tamely,  by  the  way,  and 
turn  to  some  inferior, easy  joy. 

As  Glory  had  seen,  in  the  old  years,  children  happier  than 
herself,  wearing  beautiful  garments,  and  "  hair  that  was 
let  to  grow,"  she  saw  those  about  her  now  whom  life  en 
folded  with  a  grace  and  lovelines%  she  might  not  look  for ; 
about  whom  fair  affections,  "  let  to  grow,  "  clustered  radi 
ant,  and  enshrined  them  in  their  light. 

She  saw  always  something  that  was  beyond ;  something 
she  might  not  attain ;  yet,  expectant  of  nothing,  but  blindly 
true  to  the  highest  within  her,  she  lost  no  glimpse  of  the 
greater,  through  lowering  herself  to  the  less. 

Her  soul  of  womanhood  asserted  itself;  longing,  igno. 
rantly,  for  a  soul  love.  "  To  be  cared  for,  so  1 " 


276       FAITH  GARTNET'S   GIRLHOOD. 

But  she  would  rather  recognize  it  afar,  — rather  have  her 
joy  in  knowing  the  joy  that  might  be,  — than  shut  herself 
from  knowledge  in  the  content  of  a  common,  sordid  lot. 

She  did  not  think  this  deliberately,  however ;  it  was  not 
reason,  but  instinct.  She  renounced  unconsciously.  She 
bore  denial,  and  never  knew  she  was  denied. 

Of  course,  the  thought  of  daring  to  covet  what  she  saw, 
had  never  crossed  her,  in  her  humbleness.  It  was  quite 
away  from  her.  It  was  something  with  which  she  had 
nothing  to  do.  "  But  it  must  be  beautiful  to  be  like  Mi  & 
Faith."  And  she  thanked  God,  mutely,  that  she  had  tms 
beautiful  life  near  her,  and  could  look  on  it  every  day. 

She  could  not  marry  Luther  Goodell. 

"  A  vague  unrest 
And  a  nameless  longing  filled  her  breast ; " 

But,  unlike  the  maiden  of  the  ballad,  she  could  not  smother 
it  down,  to  break  forth,  by-and-by,  defying  the  "  burden  of 
life,"  in  sweet  bright  vision,  grown  to  a  keen  torture  then. 

Faith  had  read  to  her  this  story  of  Maud,  one  day. 

"  I  should  n't  have  done  so,"  she  had  said,  when  it  wag 
ended.  I  "d  rather  have  kept  that  one  minute  under  the 
apple-trees  to  live  on  all  the  rest  of  my  days ! " 

She  could  not  marry  Buther  Goodell. 

Would  it  have  been  better  that  she  should?  That  she 
ehould  have  gone  down  from  her  dreams  into  a  plain  man's 
life,  and  made  a  plain  man  happy  ?  Some  women,  of  far 
higher  mental  culture  and  social  place,  have  done  this,  and, 
seemingly,  done  well.  Only  God  and  their  own  hearts  know 
if  the  seeming  be  true. 

Glory  waited.     "Everybody  needn't  marry,"  she  said 

This  night,  with  those  words  of  Mr.  Armstrong's  in  hei 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.       277 

ears,  revealing  to  her  so  much,  she  stood  before  that  window 
of  his  and  watched  the  fire. 

Doors  were  open  behind  her,  leading  through  to  Misa 
Henderson's  chamber.  She  would  hear  her  mistress  if  she 
stirred. 

,  If  she  had  known  what  she  did  not  know,  —  that  Faith 
(•artney  stood  at  this  moment  in  that  burning  mill,  looking 
forth  despairingly  on  those  bright  waters  and  green  fields 
that  lay  between  it  and  this  home  of  hers,  —  that  were  so 
near  her,  she  might  discern  each  shining  pebble  and  the 
separate  grass-blades  in  the  scarlet  light,  yet  so  infinitely  far, 
so  gone  from  her  forever,  —  had  she  known  all  this,  with 
out  knowing  the  help  and  hope  that  were  coming,  —  she 
would  yet  have  said  "  How  beautiful  it  would  be  to  be  like 
Miss  Faith ! " 

She  watched  the  fire  till  it  began  to  deaden,  and  the 
glow  paled  out  into  the  starlight. 

By-and-by,  up  from  the  direction  of  the  river-road,  she 
saw  a  chaise  approaching.  It  was  stopped  at  the  corner, 
by  the  bar-place.  Two  figures  descended  from  it,  and 
entered  upon  the  field-path  through  the  stile. 

One,  —  yes,  —  it  was  surely  the  minister  1  The  other, 
—  a  woman.  Who  ? 

Miss  Faith ! 

Glory  met  them  upon  the  door-stone. 

Faith  held  her  finger  up. 

"  I  was  afraid  of  disturbing  my  aunt,"  said  she. 

"  Take  care  of  her,  Glory,"  said  her  companion.  "  She 
has  been  in  frightful  danger." 

"At  the  fire  !     And  you  —  " 

"  I  was  there  in  time,  thank  God  1 "  spoke  Eoger  Arm- 
strong,  from  his  soul. 

24 


278       FAITH  GARTNET'S  GIRLHOOD. 

The  two  girls  passed  through  to  the  blue  bedroom, 
uoftly. 

Mr.  Armstrong  went  back  to  the  mills  again,  with  horse 
and  chaise. 

Glory  shut  the  bedroom  door. 

"  Why,  you  are  all  wet,  and  draggled,  and  smoked ! " 
said  she,  taking  off  Faith's  outer,  borrowed  garments. 
"  What  has  happened  to  you,  — and  how  came  you  there. 
Miss  Faith  ?  " 

"  I  fell  asleep  in  the  counting-room,  last  evening,  and 
got  locked  in.  I  was  coming  home.  I  can't  tell  you  now, 
Glory.  I  don't  dare  to  think  it  all  over,  yet.  And  we 
must  n't  let  Aunt  Faith  know  that  I  am  here." 

These  sentences  they  spoke  in  whispers. 

Glory  asked  no  more ;  but  brought  warm  water,  and 
bathed  and  rubbed  Faith's  feet,  and  helped  her  to  undress, 
and  put  her  night-clothes  on,  and  covered  her  in  bed  with 
blankets,  and  then  went  away  softly  to  the  kitchen,  whence 
she  brought  back,  presently,  a  cup  of  hot  tea,  and  a  bis 
cuit. 

"  Take  these,  please,"  she  said. 

"  I  don't  think  I  can,  Glory.     I  don't  want  anything." 

"  But  he  told  me  to  take  care  of  you,  Miss  Faith  ! " 

That,  also,  had  a  power  with  Faith.  Because  he  lad 
said  that,  she  drank  the  tea,  and  then  lay  back,  —  so 
tired! 

"  I  waited  up  till  you  came,  sir,  because  I  thought  you 
would  like  to  know,"  said  Glory,  meeting  Mr.  Armstrong 
once  more  upon  the  door-stone,  as  he  returned  a  second 
time  from  the  fire.  "  She 's  gone  to  sleep,  and  is  resting 
beautiful  I " 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.       27$ 

"  You  are  a  good  girl,  Glory,  and  I  thank  you,"  said  the 
minister ;  and  he  put  his  hand  forth,  and  grasped  hers  aa 
\if.  spoke.  "  Now  go  to  bed,  and  rest,  yourself." 

It  was  reward  enough. 

From  the  plenitude  that  waits  on  one  life,  falls  a  crumb 
that  stays  the  craving  of  another. 


CMAPTEK    XXX. 
AUNT  HENDERSON'S  MYSTERY. 

Oh,  the  little  birds  sang-  east,  and  the  little  birds  sang  west, 
And  I  said  in  underbreath,  —  All  our  life  is  mixed  with  death, 
And  who  knoweth  which  is  best  ? 

'  Oh,  the  little  birds  sang  east,  and  the  little  birds  sang  west, 
And  1  smiled  to  think  God's  greatness  flowed  around  our  incomplete 
ness, — 

Bound  our  restlessness,  His  rest." 

MRS.  BROWNING. 

"  So  the  dreams  depart, 

So  the  fading  phantoms  flee, 
And  the  sharp  reality 
Now  must  act  its  part." 

WEST  WOOD. 

IT  was  a  little  after  noon  of  the  next  day,  when  Mr. 
Rushleigh  came  to  Cross  Corners. 

Faith  was  lying  back,  quite  pale,  and  silent,  —  feeling 
very  weak  after  the  terror,  excitement,  and  fatigue  she  had 
gone  through,  —  in  the  large  easy-chair  which  had  been 
brought  for  her  into  the  southeast  room.  Miss  Henderson 
had  been  removed  from  her  bed  to  the  sofa  here,  and  the 
two  were  keeping  each  other  quiet  company.  Neither 
could  hear  the  strain  of  nerve  to  dwell  long  or  particularly 
on  the  events  of  the  night.  The  story  had  been  told,  aa 
nimply  as  it  might  be  ;  and  the  rest  and  the  thankfulness 


FAITH   GARTNEF'S   GIRLHOOD.      281 

were  all  they  could  think  of  now.  So  there  were  deep 
thoughts  and  few  words  between  them.  On  Faith's  part,  a 
patrent  waiting  for  a  trial  yet  before  her. 

"  It 's  Mr.  Eushleigh,  come  over  to  see  Miss  Faith. 
Shall  I  bring  him  in  ?  "  asked  Glory,  at  the  door. 

"  Will  you  mind  it,  aunt  ?  "  asked  Faith. 

"  I  ?  No,"  said  Miss  Henderson.  "  Will  you  mind  my 
being  here  ?  That 's  the  question.  I  'd  take  myself  off, 
without  asking,  if  I  could,  you  know." 

"  Dear  Aunt  Faith  !  There  is  something  I  have  to  say 
to  Mr.  Eushleigh  which  will  be  very  hard  to  say,  but  no 
more  so  because  you  will  be  by  to  hear  it.  It  is  better  so. 
I  shall  only  have  to  say  it  once.  I  am  glad  you  should  be 
with  me." 

•'  Brave  little  Faithie !  "  said  Mr.  Kushleigh,  coming  in 
with  hands  outstretched.  "  Not  ill,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  Only  tired,"  Faith  answered.  "  And  a  little  weak, 
and  foolish,"  as  the  tears  would  come,  in  answer  to  his  cor 
dial  words. 

"  I  am  sorry,  Miss  Henderson,  that  I  could  not  have 
persuaded  this  little  girl  to  go  home  with  me  last  night, — 
this  morning,  rather.  But  she  would  come  to  you." 

"She  did  just  right,"  Aunt  Faith  replied.  "It's  the 
proper  place  for  her  to  come  to.  Not  but  that  we  thank 
you  all  the  same.  You  're  very  kind." 

"  Kinder  than  I  have  deserved,"  whispered  Faith,  as  he 
took  his  seat  beside  her. 

Mr.  Eushleigh  would  not  let  her  lead  him  that  way  yet 
lie  ignored  the  little  whisper,  and  by  a  gentle  question  or 
two  drew  from  her  that  which  he  had  come,  especially,  to 
learn  and  speak  of  to-day,  —  the  story  of  the  fire,  and  her 
own  knowledge  of,  and  share  in  it,  as  she  alone  could  tell  il» 

24* 


282       FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

Now,  for  the  first  time,  as  she  recalled  it  to  explain  her 
motive  for  entering  the  mill  at  all,  the  rough  conversation 
she  had  overheard  between  the  two  men  upon  the  river  bank, 
suggested  to  Faith,  as  the  mention  of  it  was  upon  her  lips, 
a  possible  clue  to  the  origin  of  the  mischief.  She  paused, 
suddenly,  and  a  look  of  dismayed  hesitation  came  over  her 
face. 

"  I  ought  to  tell  you  all,  I  suppose,"  she  continued.  "But 
pray,  sir,  do  not  conclude  anything  hastily.  The  two  things 
may  have  had  nothing  to  do  with  each  other." 

And  then,  reluctantly,  she  repeated  the  angry  threat  that 
had  come  to  her  ears. 

Pausing,  timidly,  to  look  up  in  her  listener's  face,  to 
judge  of  its  expression,  a  smile  there  surprised  her. 

"  See  how  truth  is  always  best,"  said  Mr.  Eushleigh.  "  If 
you  had  kept  back  your  knowledge  of  this,  you  would  have 
sealed  up  a  painful  doubt  for  your  own  tormenting.  That 
man,  James  Eegan,  came  to  me  this  morning.  There  is 
good  in  the  fellow,  after  all.  He  told  me,  just  as  you  have, 
and  as  Hardy  did,  the  words  he  spoke  in  passion.  He  was 
afraid,  he  said,  they  might  be  brought  up  against  him.  And 
so  he  came  to  '  own  up,'  and  account  for  his  time  ;  and  to 
beg  me  to  believe  that  he  never  bad  any  definite  thought  of 
harm.  I  told  him  I  did  believe  it ;  and  then  the  poor  fel 
low,  rough  as  he  is,  turned  pale,  and  burst  into  tears.  Last 
night  gave  him  a  lesson,  I  think,  that  will  go  far  to  take  the 
hardness  out  of  him.  Blasland  says,  '  he  worked  like  five 
men  and  a  horse,'  at  the  fire." 

"Faith's  face  glowed  as  she  listened,  at  the  nobleness  of 
these  two ;  of  the  generous,  Christian  gentleman,  —  of  the 
coarse  workman,  who  wore  his  nature,  like  his  garb,  —  the 
worse  part  of  an  every-day. 


FAITH    GAltTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD,       283 

Fire  and  loss  are  not  all  calamity,  when  such  as  this 
comes  of  them. 

Her  own  recital  was  soon  finished. 

Mr.  Kushleigh  listened,  giving  his  whole  sympathy  to  the 
danger  she  had  faced,  his  fresh  and  fervent  acknowledg- 
ment  and  admiring  praise  to  the  prompt  daring  she  had 
shown,  as  if  these  things,  and  nought  else,  had  been  in 
either  mind. 

At  these  thanks,  —  at  this  praise,  —  Faith  shrank. 

"  Oh,  Mr,  Rushleigh !  "  she  interrupted,  with  a  low,  pain 
ed,  humbled  entreaty,  —  "  don't  speak  so !  Only  forgive  me, 
—  if  you  can ! " 

Her  hands  lifted  themselves  with  a  slight,  imploring 
gesture  toward  him.  He  laid  his  own  upon  them,  gently, 
soothingly. 

"  I  will  not  have  you  trouble  or  reproach  yourself,  Faith," 
he  answered,  meeting  her  meaning,  frankly,  now.  "  There 
are  things  beyond  our  control.  All  we  can  do  is  to  be 
simply  true.  There  is  something,  I  know,  which  you  think 
lies  between  us  to  be  spoken  of.  Do  not  speak  at  all,  if  it 
be  hard  for  you.  —  I  will  tell  the  boy  that  it  was  a  mis 
take —  that  it  cannot  be." 

But  the  father's  lip  was  a  little  unsteady,  to  his  own 
feeling,  as  he  said  the  words. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Eushleigh  !  "  cried  Faith.  "  If  everything 
could  only  be  put  back  as  it  was,  in  the  old  days  before  all 
this ! " 

"  But  that  is  what  we  can't  do.  Nothing  goes  back  pre 
cisely  to  what  it  was  before." 

"No,"  said  Aunt  Faith,  from  her  sofa.  "And  never 
did,  since  the  days  of  Humpty  Dumpty.  You  might  be 
glad  to,  but  you  can't  do  it.  Things  must  just  be  made 


284      FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

the  best  of,  as  they  are.  And  they  're  never  just  alike,  tw« 
minutes  together.  They  're  altering,  and  working,  and 
going  on,  all  the  time.  And  that 's  a  comfort,  too,  when 
you  come  to  think  of  it" 

"  There  is  always  comfort,  somehow,  when  there  has  been 
DO  wilful  wrong.  And  there  has  been  none  here,  I  am  sure." 

Faith,  with  the  half-smile  yet  upon  her  face,  called  there 
by  her  aunt's  quaint  speaking,  bent  her  head,  and  burst 
into  tears. 

"I  came  to  re-assure  and  to  thank  you,  Faith  —  not  to 
let  you  distress  yourself  so,"  said  Mr.  Eushleigh.  "  Mar 
garet  sent  all  kind  messages  ;  but  I  would  not  bring  her. 
I  thought  it  would  be  too  much  for  you,  so  soon.  Another 
day,  she  will  come.  We  shall  always  claim  old  friendship, 
my  child,  and  remember  our  new  debt ;  though  the  old 
days  themselves  cannot  quite  be  brought  back  again  as 
they  were.  There  may  be  better  days,  though,  even,  by- 
and-by  " 

"Let  Margaret  know,  before  she  comes,  please,'"'  whis 
pered  Faith.  "  I  don't  think  I  could  tell  her." 

"  You  shall  not  have  a  moment  of  trial  that  I  can  spare 
you.  But  —  Paul  will  be  content  with  nothing,  as  a  final 
word,  that  does  not  come  from  you." 

"  I  will  see  him  when  he  comes.  I  wish  it.  Oh,  sir  I  I 
am  so  sorry  ! " 

"  And  so  am  I,  Faith.  We  must  all  be  sorry.  But  we 
are  only  sorry.  And  that  is  all  that  need  be  said." 

The  conversation,  after  this,  could  not  be  prolonged. 
Mr.  Rushleigh  took  his  leave,  kindly,  as  he  had  made  hia 
greeting. 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Faith  !  What  a  terrible  thing  I  have  done  1 " 

44  What  a  terrible  thing  you  came  near  doing,  you  mean. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.       235 

child  !  Be  thankful  to  the  Lord,  —  He  's  delivered  you 
from  it !  And  look  well  to  the  rest  of  your  life,  after  all 
this.  Out  of  fire  and  misery  you  must  have  been  saved  for 
something ! " 

Then  Aunt  Faith  called  Glory,  and  told  her  to  bring  an 
egg,  beat  up  in  milk,  —  "to  a  good  froth,  mind;  and 
sugared  and  nutmegged,  and  a  teaspoonful  of  brandy 
in  it." 

•  This  she  made  Faith  swallow,  and  then  bade  her  put  her 
feet  up  on  the  sofa,  and  lean  back,  and  shut  her  eyes,  and 
not  speak  another  word  till  she  'd  had  a  nap. 

All  which,  strangely  enough,  Faith,  —  wearied,  troubled, 
yet  relieved,  —  obeyed. 

For  the  next  two  days,  what  with  waiting  on  the  invalids, 
— for  Faith  was  far  from  well, — and  with  answering  the 
incessant  calls  at  the  door  of  curious  people  flocking  to 
inquire,  Glory  McWhirk  was  kept  busy  and  tired.  But 
not  with  a  thankless  duty,  as  in  the  days  gone  by,  that 
she  remembered  ;  it  was  heart-work  now,  and  brought 
heart-love  as  its  reward.  It  was  one  of  her  "  real  good 
times." 

Mr.  Armstrong  talked  and  read  with  them,  and  gave 
hand-help  and  ministry  also,  just  when  it  could  be  given 
most  effectually. 

It  was  a  beautiful  lull  of  peace  between  the  conflict  that 
•*as  past,  and  the  final  pang  that  was  to  come.  Faith  ac- 
^epted  it  with  a  thankfulness.  Such  joy  as  this  was  all 
life  had  for  her,  henceforth.  There  was  no  restlessness,  no 
Belfishness  in  the  love  that  had  so  suddenly  asserted  itself, 
and  borne  down  all  her  doubts  She  thought  not  of  it,  as 
love,  any  more.  She  never  dreamed  of  being  other  to  Mr. 
A.rmstrong  than  she  was.  Only,  that  other  life  had  become 


286       FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

impossible  to  her.  Here,  if  she  might  not  elsewhere,  she 
had  gone  back  to  the  things  that  were.  She  could  be  quite 
content  and  happy,  so.  It  was  enough  to  rest  in  such  a 
friendship.  If  only  she  had  once  seen  Paul,  and  if  he  could 
jut  bear  it ! 

And  Koger  Armstrong,  of  intent,  was  just  what  he  had 
always  been,  —  the  kind  and  earnest  friend, — the  ready 
helper ;  —  no  more.  He  knew  Faith  Gartney  had  a  trouble 
to  bear1;  he  had  read  her  perplexity, — her  indecision;  he 
had  feared,  unselfishly,  for  the  mistake  she  was  making. 
Miss  Henderson  had  told  him,  now,  in  few,  plain  words,  how 
things  were  ending  ;  he  strove,  in  all  pleasant  and  thought 
ful  ways,  to  soothe  and  beguile  her  from  her  harassment 
He  dreamed  not  how  the  light  had  come  to  her  that  had 
revealed  to  her  the  insufficiency  of  that  other  love.  He  laid 
his  own  love  back,  from  his  own  sight. 

So,  calmly,  and  with  what  peace  they  might,  these  hours 
went  on. 

"  I  want  to  see  that  Sampson  woman,"  said  Aunt  Faith, 
suddenly,  to  her  niece,  on  the  third  afternoon  of  their  being 
together.  "  Do  you  think  she  would  come  over  here  if  I 
should  send  for  her?  " 

Faith  flashed  a  surprised  look  of  inquiry  to  Miss  Hen 
derson's  face 

"  Why,  aunt?  "  she  asked. 

"  Never  mind  why,  child.  I  can't  tell  you  now.  Of  course 
it's  something,  or  I  shouldn't  want  her.  Something  I 
should  like  to  know,  and  that  I  suppose  she  could  tell  me. 
Do  you  think  she  'd  come  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  auntie.  I  don't  doubt  it.  I  might  write  her 
a  note." 

"  I  wish  you  would.     Mr.  Armstrong  says  he  '11  drive 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.       287 

over.  And  I  'd  like  to  have  you  do  it  right  off.  Now,  don't 
ask  me  another  word  about  it,  till  she 's  been  here." 

Faith  wrote  the  note,  and  Mr.  Armstrong  went  away. 

Miss  Henderson  seemed  to  grow  tired,  to-day,  after  hex 
dinner,  and  at  four  o'clock  she  said  to  Glory,  abruptly,  — 

"  I  '11  go  to  bed.     Help  me  into  the  other  room." 

Faith  offered  to  go  too,  and  assist  her.  But  her  aunt  said. 
no,  she  should  do  quite  well  with  Glory,  "^nd  if  the 
Sampson  woman  comes,  send  her  in  to  me." 

Faith  was  astonished,  and  a  little  frightened. 

What  could  it  be  that  Miss  Henderson  wanted  with  the 
nurse  ?  Was  it  professionally  that  she  wished  to  see  her  ? 
She  knew  the  peculiar  whim,  or  principle,  Miss  Sampson 
always  acted  on,  of  never  taking  cases  of  common  illness. 
She  could  not  have  Hent  for  her  in  the  hope  of  keeping  her 
merely  to  wait  upon  her  wants  as  an  invalid,  and  relieve 
Glory  ?  Was  her  aunt  aware  of  symptoms  in  herself,  fore 
tokening  other  or  more  serious  illness  ? 

Faith  could  only  wonder,  and  wait. 

Glory  came  back,  presently,  into  the  southeast  room,  to 
say  to  Faith  that  her  aunt  was  comfortable,  and  thought  she 
should  get  a  nap.  But  that  whenever  the  nurse  came,  she 
was  to  be  shown  in  to  her. 

The  next  half-hour,  that  happened  which  drove  even  this 
thought  utterly  from  Faith's  mind.  . 

Paul  Eushleigh  came. 

Faith  lay,  a  little  wearily,  upon  the  couch  her  aunt  had 
quitted  ;  and  was  thinking,  at  the  very  moment,  —  with 
that  sudden,  breathless  anticipation  that  sweeps  over  one, 
now  and  then,  of  a  thing  awaited  apprehensively,  —  of 
whether  this  Saturday  night  would  not  probably  bring  him 
dome,  — when  she  caught  the  sound  of  a  horse's  feet  that 


288       FAITH  GAMTNEY  a  GIRLHOOD. 

stopped  before  the  house,  and  then  a  man's  step  upon  the 
stoop. 

It  was  his.     The  moment  had  come. 

She  sprang  to  her  feet.  For  an  instant  she  would  have 
fled, — anywhither.  Then  she  grew  strangely  calm  and 
strong.  She  must  meet  him  quietly.  She  must  tell  him 
plainly.  Tell  him,  if  need  be,  all  she  knew  herself.  He 
bad  a  right  to  all. 

Paul  came  in,  looking  grave ;  and  greeted  her  with  a 
gentle  reserve. 

A  moment,  they  stood  there  as  they  had  met,  she  with 
face  pale,  sad,  that  dared  not  lift  itself;  he,  not  trusting 
himself  to  the  utterance  of  a  word. 

But  he  had  come  there,  not  to  reproach,  or  to  bewail ;  not 
even  to  plead.  To  hear,  —  to  bear  with  firmness,  —  what 
she  had  to  tell  him.  And  there  was,  in  truth,  a  new  strength 
and  nobleness  in  look  and  tone,  when,  presently,  he  spoke. 

If  he  had  had  his  way,  —  if  all  had  gone  prosperously 
with  him, — he  would  have  been,  still,  —  recipient  of  hia 
father's  bounty,  and  accepted  of  his  childish  love, —  scarcely 
more  than  a  mere,  happy  boy.  This  pain,  this  struggle, 
this  first  rebuff  of  life,  crowned  him,  a  man. 

Faith  might  have  loved  him,  now,  if  she  had  so  seen  him, 
first. 

Yet  the  hour  would  come  when  he  should  know  that  it 
had  been  better  as  it  was.  That  so  he  should  grow  to  that 
which,  otherwise,  he  had  never  been. 

"  Faith !  My  father  has  told  me.  That  it  must  be  all  over. 
That  it  was  a  mistake.  I  have  Come  to  hear  it  from  you." 

Then  he  laid  in  her  hand  his  father's  letter. 

"  This  came  with  yours,"  he  said.  "  After  this,  I  ex 
pected  all  the  rest" 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD,       289 

Faith  took  the  open  sheet,  mechanically.  With  half- 
blinded  eyes,  she  glanced  over  the  few  earnest,  fatherly, 
generous  lines.  When  she  came  to  the  last,  she  spoke,  low. 

"  Yes  That  is  it.  He  saw  it.  It  would  have  been  nc 
true  marriage,  Paul,  before  heaven ! " 

"Then  why  did  I  love  you,  Faith?"  cried  the  young 
man,  impetuously. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said,  meditatively,  as  if  she  really 
were  to  answer  that  "Perhaps  you  will  come  to  love 
again,  differently,  yet,  Paul ;  and  then  you  may  know  why 
this  has  been." 

"I  know,"  said  Paul,  sadly,  "that  you  have  been  out 
growing  me,  Faith.  I  have  felt  that.  I  know  I  've  been 
nothing  but  a  careless,  merry  fellow,  living  an  outside  sort 
of  life  ;  and  I  suppose  it  was  only  in  this  outside  compan 
ionship  you  liked  me.  But  there  might  be  something  more 
in  me,  yet ;  and  you  might  have  brought  it  out,  maybe. 
You  were  bringing  it  out.  You,  and  the  responsibilities 
my  father  put  upon  me.  But  it 's  too  late,  now.  It  can't 
be  helped." 

"  Not  too  late,  Paul,  for  that  noble  part  of  you  to  grow. 
It  was  that  I  came  so  near  really  loving  at  the  last.  But, 
—  Paul !  a  woman  don't  want  to  lead  her  husband.  She 
wants  to  be  led.  I  have  thought,"  she  added,  timidly,  "  so 
much  of  that  verse  in  the  Epistle,  —  'the  head  of  the  woman 
is  the  man,  and  the  head  of  the  man  is  Christ,  and  the  head 
of  Christ  is  God.' " 

"  You  came  near  loving  me ! "  cried  Paul,  catching  at 
this  sentence,  only,  out  of  all  that  should,  by-and-by,  never 
theless,  come  out  in  letters  of  light  upon  his  thought  and 
memory.  "Oh,  Faith!  you  may,  yet!  It  isn't  all  quite 
9ver  ?  " 

25 


200      FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

Then  Faith  Gartney  knew  she  must  say  it  all.  All,  — 
though  the  hot  crimson  flushed  up  painfully,  and  the  breath 
came  quick,  and  she  trembled  from  head  to  foot,  there, 
where  she  stood.  But  the  truth,  mighty,  and  holy  in  its 
might,  came  up  from  heart  to  lip,  and  the  crimson  paled, 
and  the  breath  grew  calm,  and  she  stood  firm  with  her  pure 
resolve,  even  in  her  maidenly  shame,  before  him. 

There  are  instants,  when  all  thought  of  the  moment 
itself,  and  the  look  and  the  word  of  it,  are  overborne  and 
lost. 

"No,  Paul.  I  will  tell  you  truly.  With  my  little, 
childish  heart,  I  loved  you.  With  the  love  of  a  dear 
friend,  I  hold  you  still,  and  shall  hold  you,  always.  But, 
Paul !  —  no  one  else  knows  it,  and  I  never  knew  it  till  I 
stood  face  to  face  with  death,  —  with  my  soul  I  have  come 
to  love  another ! " 

Deep  and  low  these  last  words  were  —  given  up  from  the 
very  innermost,  and  spoken  with  bowed  head  and  streaming 
eyes. 

Paul  Rushleigh  took  her  hand.  A  manly  reverence  in 
him  recognized  the  pure  courage  that  unveiled  her  woman's 
heart,  and  showed  him  alL 

"  Faith ! "  he  said,  "  you  have  never  deceived  me.  You 
are  always  noble.  Forgive  me  that  I  have  made  you  strug 
gle  to  love  me  !  " 

With  these  words,  he  went 

Faith  flung  herself  upon  the  sofa,  and  hid  her  face  in  its 
cushion,  hearing,  through  her  sobs,  the  tread  of  his  horse  an 
he  passed  down  the  road. 

This  chapter  of  her  life-story  was  closed. 


CHAPTER  XXXL 
NURSE  SAMPSON'S  WAY  OF  LOOKING  AT  IT 

"  I  can  beliere,  it  shall  you  grieve, 

And  somewhat  you  distrain  ; 
But  afterward,  your  paines  hard, 

AVithin  a  flay  or  twain, 
Shall  soon  aslake  ;  aud  ye  shall  take 
Comfort  to  you  again." 

OLD  ENGLISH  BALLAD. 

GLORY  looked  in,  once,  at  the  southeast  room,  and  saw 
Faith  lying,  still  with  hidden  face  ;  and  went  away  softly, 
shutting  the  door  behind  her  as  she  went. 

"When  Mr.  Armstrong  and  Miss  Sampson  came,  she  met 
them  at  the  front  entrance,  and  led  the  nurse  directly  to 
her  mistress,  as  she  had  been  told. 

Mr.  Armstrong  betook  himself  to  his  own  room.  Perhaps 
the  hollow  Paul  Kushleigh's  horse  had  pawed  at  the  gate 
post,  and  the  closed  door  of  the  keeping-room,  revealed 
something  to  his  discernment  that  kept  him  from  seeking 
Faith  just  then. 

There  was  a  half-hour  of  quiet  in  the  old  house.  A  quiet 
that  overbrooded  very  much. 

Then  Nurse  Sampson  came  out,  with  a  look  on  her  face 
that  made  Faith  gaze  upon  her  with  an  awed  feeling  of 
expectation.  She  feared,  suddenly,  to  ask  a  question. 


L"J2      FAITH    GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

It  was  not  a  long-drawn  look  of  sympathy.  It  was  not 
surprised,  nor  shocked,  nor  excited.  It  was  a  look  of 
business.  As  if  she  knew  of  work  before  her  to  do.  As 
if  Nurse  Sampson  were  in  her  own  proper  element,  once 
more. 

Faith  knew  that  something,  —  she  could  not  guess  what, 
—  something  terrible,  she  feared,  —  had  happened,  or  was 
going  to  happen,  to  her  aunt. 

It  was  in  the  softening  twilight  that  Miss  Henderson 
sent  for  her  to  come  in. 

Aunt  Faith  leaned  against  her  pillows,  looking  bright 
and  comfortable,  even  cheerful ;  but  there  was  a  strange 
gentleness  in  look  and  word  and  touch,  as  she  greeted  the 
young  girl  who  came  to  her  bedside  with  a  face  that  wore 
at  once  its  own  subduedness  of  fresh-past  grief,  and  a  won 
dering,  loving  apprehension  of  something  to  be  disclosed 
concerning  the  kind  friend  who  lay  there,  invested  so  with 
such  new  grace  of  tenderness. 

Was  there  a  twilight,  other  than  that  of  day,  softening, 
also,  around  her? 

"  Little  Faith ! "  said  Aunt  Henderson.  Her  very  voice 
had  taken  an  unwonted  tone. 

"  Auntie !  It  is  surely  something  very  grave !  Will  you 
not  tell  me  ?  " 

"Yes,  child.  I  mean  to  tell  you.  It  may  be  grave. 
Most  things  are,  if  we  had  the  wisdom  to  see  it.  But  it 
is  n't  very  dreadful.  It 's  what  I  've  had  warning  enough 
of,  and  had  mostly  made  up  my  mind  to.  But  I  was  n't 
quite  sure.  Now,  I  am.  I  suppose  I  've  got  to  bear  some 
pain,  and  go  through  a  risk  that  will  be  greater,  at  my 
years,  than  it  would  have  been  if  I  'd  been  younger.  And 
I  may  die.  That 's  alL" 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.       293 

The  words,  of  old  habit,  were  abrupt.  The  eye  and  voice 
were  tender  with  unspoken  love. 

Faith  turned  to  Miss  Sampson,  who  sat  by. 

"And  then,  again,  she  mayn't,"  said  the  nurse.  "1 
shall  stay  and  see  her  through.  There'll  have  to  be  an 
operation.  At  least,  I  think  so.  We  '11  have  the  doctor 
over,  to-morrow.  And  now,  if  there  's  one  thing  more  im 
portant  than  another,  it 's  to  keep  her  cheerful.  So,  if 
you  've  got  anything  bright  and  lively  to  say,  speak  out ! 
If  not,  keep  out !  She  '11  do  well  enough,  I  dare  say." 

Poor  Faith !  And,  without  this  new  trouble,  there  was 
so  much  that  she,  herself,  was  needing  comfort  for ! 

"  You  're  a  wise  woman,  Nurse  Sampson.  But  you  don't 
know  everything,"  said  Aunt  Faith.  "  The  best  thing  to 
take  people  out  of  their  own  worries,  is  to  go  to  work  and 
find  out  how  other  folks'  worries  are  getting  on.  —  He  's 
been  here,  has  n't  he,  child  ?  " 

It  was  not  so  hard  for  Aunt  Faith,  who  had  borne 
secretly,  so  long,  the  suspicion  of  what  was  coming,  and 
had  lived  on,  calmly,  nevertheless,  in  her  daily  round1,  to 
turn  thus  from  the  announcement  of  her  own  state  and  pos 
sible  danger,  to  thought  and  inquiry  for  the  affairs  of  an 
other,  as  it  was  for  that  other,  newly  apprised,  and  but 
half  apprised,  even,  of  what  threatened,  to  leave  the  subject 
there,  and  answer.  But  she  saw  that  Miss  Henderson 
spoke  only  truth  in  declaring  it  was  the  best  way  to  take 
her  out  of  her  worries ;  she  read  Nurse  Sampson's  look,  and 
saw  that  she,  at  any  rate,  was  quite  resolved  her  patient 
should  not  be  let  to  dwell  longer  on  any  painful  or  appre- 
nensive  thought,  and  she  put  off  all  her  own  anxious  ques 
tionings,  till  she  should  see  the  nurse  alone,  and  said,  in  a 
low  tone, — yes ;  Paul  Rushleigh  had  been  there. 

25* 


294       FAITH  GAPTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

"  And  you  've  told  him  the  truth,  like  a  woman,  and  he  'a 
heard  it  like  a  man  ?  " 

"  I  've  told  him  it  must  be  given  up.  Oh,  it  was  hard, 
auntie ! " 

"  You  need  n't  worry.  You  've  done  just  the  Tightest 
thing  you  could  do." 

"  But  it  seems  so  selfish.  As  if  my  happiness  were  of  so 
much  more  consequence  than  his.  I  've  made  him  so  mis 
erable,  I  'm  afraid  !  " 

"  Miss  Sampson !"  cried  Aunt  Faith,  with  all  her  old 
oddity  and  suddenness,  "just  tell  this  girl,  if  you  know, 
what  kind  of  a  commandment  a  woman  breaks,  if  she  can't 
make  up  her  mind  to  marry  the  first  man  that  asks  her  1 
'T  aint  in  my  Decalogue !  " 

"  I  can't  tell  what  commandment  she  won't  be  likely  to 
break,  if  she  is  n't  pretty  sure  of  her  own  mind  before  she 
does  marry !  "  said  Miss  Sampson,  energetically.  "  Talk  of 
making  a  man  miserable !  Supposing  you  do  for  a  little 
while  ?  'T  won't  last  long.  Eight 's  right,  and  settles  itself. 
Wrong  never  does.  And  there  is  n't  a  greater  wrong  than 
to  marry  the  wrong  man.  To  him  as  well  as  to  you.  And 
it  won't  end  there,  —  that 's  the  worst  of  it.  There 's  more 
concerned  than  just  yourself  and  him ;  though  you  may  n't 
know  how,  or  who.  It 's  an  awful  thing  to  tangle  up  and  dis 
arrange  the  plans  of  Providence.  And  more  of  it 's  done, 
J  verily  believe,  in  this  matter  of  marrying,  than  any  other 
way.  It's  like  mismatching  anything  else,  —  gloves  or 
stockings,  —  and  wearing  the  wrong  ones  together.  They 
don't  fit ;  and  more  'n  that,  it  spoils  another  pair.  I  believe, 
as  true  as  I  live,  if  the  angels  ever  do  cry  over  this  miserable 
world,  it 's  when  they  see  the  souls  they  have  paired  off,  all 
right,  out  of  heaven,  getting  mixed  up  and  mismated  as  they 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.      295 

tlo  down  here  !  Why,  it 's  fairly  enough  to  account  for  all 
the  sin  and  misery  there  is  in  the  world  !  If  it  was  n't  for 
Adam  and  Eve  and  Cain,  I  should  think  it  did ! " 

"  But  it's  very  hard,"  said  Faith,  smiling,  despite  all  her 
saddening  thoughts,  at  the  characteristic  harangue,  "alwaya 
to  know  wrong  from  right.  People  may  make  mistakes,  if 
they  mean  ever  so  well." 

"  Yes,  awful  mistakes!  There's  that  poor,  unfortunate 
woman  in  the  Bible.  I  never  thought  the  Lord  meant  any 
reflection  by  what  he  said,  —  on  her.  She  'd  had  six  hus 
bands.  And  he  knew  she  had  n't  got  what  she  bargained 
for,  after  all.  Most  likely  she  never  had,  in  the  whole  six. 
And  if  things  had  got  into  such  a  snarl  as  that  eighteen  hun 
dred  years  ago,  how  many  people,  do  you  think,  by  this  time, 
are  right  enough  in  themselves  to  be  right  for  anybody  ? 
1  've  thought  it  all  over,  many  a  time.  I  've  had  reasons  of 
my  own,  and  I  've  seen  plenty  of  reasons  as  I  'vegone  about 
the  world.  And  my  conclusion  is,  that  matrimony 's  come 
to  be  more  of  a  discipline,  now-a-days,  than  anything  else ! " 

It  was  strange  cheer  ;  and  it  came  at  a  strange  moment ; 
with  the  very  birth  of  a  new  anxiety.  But  so  our  moments 
and  their  influences  are  mingled.  Faith  was  roused, 
strengthened,  confirmed  in  her  own  thought  of  right,  be 
guiled  out  of  herself,  by  the  words  of  these  two  odd,  plain- 
dealing  women,  as  she  would  not  have  been  if  a  score  of 
half-comprehending  friends  had  soothed  her  indirectly  with 
inanities,  and  delicate  half-handling  of  that  which  Aunt 
Faith  and  Nurse  Sampson  went  straight  to  the  heart  of,  and 
brought  out,  uncompromisingly,  into  the  light.  So  much 
we  can  endure  from  a  true  earnestness  and  simplicity,  rough 
und  homely  though  it  be,  which  would  be  impertinent  and 
intolerable  if  it  came  but  with  surf  ace- sympathy. 


296      FAITH    GARTNEY.'S    GIRLHOOD. 

She  had  a  word  that  night  from  "Roger  Armstrong,  when 
he  came,  late  in  the  evening,  from  a  conversation  with 
Aunt  Faith,  and  found  her  at  the  open  door  upon  the  stoop. 
It  was  only  a  hand-grasp,  and  a  fervent  "  God  bless  you, 
child!  You  have  been  brave  and  true!  "  and  he  passed  on. 
But  a  balm  and  a  quiet  fell  deep  into  her  heart,  and  a  tone, 
that  was  a  joy,  lingered  in  her  ear,  and  comforted  her  as  no 
other  earthly  comfort  could.  But  this  was  not  all  earthly ; 
it  lifted  her  toward  heaven.  It  bore  her  toward  the  eternal 
solace  there. 

Aunt  Faith  would  have  no  scenes.  She  told  the  others, 
in  turn,  very  much  as  she  had  told  Faith,  that  a  suffering 
and  an  uncertainty  lay  before  her  ;  and  then,  by  her  next 
word  and  gesture,  demanded  that  the  life  about  her  should 
go  right  on,  taking  as  slightly  as  might  be  its  coloring  from 
this  that  brooded  over  her.  Nobody  had  a  chance  to  make 
a  wail.  There  was  something  for  each  to  do. 

Miss  Henderson,  by  Nurse  Sampson's  advice,  remained 
mostly  in  her  bed.  In  fact,  she  had  kept  back  the  an 
nouncement  of  this  ailment  of  hers,  just  so  long  as  she 
could  resist  its  obvious  encroachment.  The  twisted  ancle 
had  been,  for  long,  a  convenient  explanation  of  more  than 
its  own  actual  disability. 

But  it  was  not  a  sick-room,  —  one  felt  that,  —  this  little 
limited  bound  in  which  her  life  was  now  visibly  encircled. 
A.11  the  cheer  of  the  house  was  brought  into  it  If  people 
were  sorry  and  fearful,  it  was  elsewhere.  Neither  Aunt 
Faith  nor  the  nurse  would  let  anybody  into  "  their  hospital," 
as  Miss  Sampson  said,  "unless  they  came  with  a  bright 
look  for  a  pass."  Every  evening,  the  great  Bible  was  opened 
there,  and  Mr.  Armstrong  read  with  them,  and  uttered  foi 
them  words  that  lifted  each  heart,  with  its  secret  need  and 


FAITH   GARTNET'S  GIRLHOOD.       297 

thankfulness,  10  heaven.  All  together,  trustfully,  and  tran 
quilly,  they  waited. 

Dr.  Wasgatt  had  been  called  in.  Quite  surprised  he  was, 
at  this  new  development.  He  "had  thought  there  was 
something  a  little  peculiar  in  her  symptoms."  But  he  wag 
one  of  those  ^Esculapian  worthies  who,  having  lived  a  scien 
tifically  uneventful  life,  plodding  quietly  along  in  his  pro 
fession  among  people  who  had  mostly  been  ill  after  very 
ordinary  fashions,  and  who  required  only  the  administering 
of  stereotyped  remedies,  according  to  the  old  stereotyped 
order  and  rulQ,  had  quite  forgotten  to  think  of  the  possi 
bility  of  any  unusual  complications.  If  anybody  were 
taken  ill  of  a  colic,  and  sent  for  him  and  told  him  so,  for  a 
colic  he  prescribed,  according  to  outward  indications.  The 
subtle  signs  that  to  a  keener  or  more  practised  discern 
ment,  might  have  betokened  more,  he  never  thought  of 
looking  for.  What  then  ?  All  cannot  be  genuises ;  most 
men  just  learn  a  trade.  It  is  only  a  Columbus  who,  by  the 
drift  along  the  shore  of  the  fact  or  continent  he  stands  on, 
predicates  another,  far  over,  out  of  sight. 

Surgeons  were  to  come  out  from  Mishaumok  to  consult. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gartney  would  be  home,  now,  in  a  day  or  two, 
and  Aunt  Faith  preferred  to  wait  till  then.  Mis'  Battia 
opened  the  Cross  Corners  house,  and  Faith  went  over,  daily, 
to  direct  the  ordering  of  things  there. 

"  Faith ! "  said  Miss  Henderson,  on  the  Wednesday 
ivening  when  they  were  to  look  confidently  for  the  return 
of  their  travellers  next  day,  "come  here  child  I  I  have 
something  to  say  to  you." 

Faith  was  sitting  alone  there,  with  her  aunt,  in  the 
twilight. 

"  There  's  one  thing  on  my  mind,  that  I  ought  to  speak  o£ 


298      FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

as  things  have  turned  out.  When  I  thought,  a  few  weeks 
ago,  that  you  were  provided  for,  as  far  as  outside  havings  go, 
I  made  a  will,  one  day.  Look  in  that  right  hand  uppei 
bureau  drawer,  and  you  '11  find  a  key,  with  a  brown  ribbon 
to  it  That  '11  unlock  a  black  box  on  the  middle  shelf  of 
the  closet.  Open  it,  and  take  out  the  paper  that  lies  on  the 
top,  and  bring  it  to  me." 

Faith  did  all  this,  silently. 

"  Yes,  this  is  it,"  said  Miss  Henderson,  putting  on  her 
glasses,  which  were  lying  on  the  counterpane,  and  unfolding 
the  single  sheet,  written  out  in  her  own  round,  upright,  old- 
fashioned  hand.  "  It 's  an  old  woman's  whim  ;  but  if  you 
don't  like  it,  it  shan't  stand.  Nobody  knows  of  it,  and 
nobody  '11  be  disappointed.  I  had  a  longing  to  leave  some 
kind  of  a  happy  life  behind  me,  if  I  could,  in  the  Old 
House.  It's  only  an  earthly  clinging  and  hankering,  may 
be  ;  but  I  'd  somehow  like  to  feel  sure,  being  the  last  of  the 
line,  that  there  'd  be  time  for  my  bones  to  crumble  away 
comfortably  into  dust,  before  the  old  timbers  should  come 
down.  1  meant,  once,  you  should  have  had  it  all ;  but  it 
•seemed  as  if  you  wasn't  going  to  need  it,  and  as  if  there 
tiras  going  to  be  other  kind  of  work  cut  out  for  you  to  de. 
And  I  'm  persuaded  there  is  yet,  somewhere.  So  I  've  done 
this ;  and  I  want  you  to  know  it  beforehand,  in  case  any 
thing  goes  wrong,  —  no,  not  that,  but  unexpectedly,  —  with 
me." 

She  reached  out  the  paper,  and  Faith  took  it  from  her 
hand.  It  was  not  long  in  reading. 

A  light  shone  out  of  Faith's  eyes,  through  the  tears  that 
sprang  to  them,  as  she  finished  it,  and  gave  it  back. 

"Aunt  Faith!"  she  said,  earnestly.  "It  is  beautiful! 
I  am  so  glad  !  But,  auntie  I  You  '11  get  well,  I  know,  anJ 
begin  it  yourself! " 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.       2&0 

•'  No,"  said  Miss  Henderson,  quietly.  "  I  may  get  over 
this,  and  I  don't  say  I  should  n't  be  glad  to.  But  I  'm  an 
old  tree,  and  the  axe  is  lying,  ground,  somewhere,  that 's  to 
cut  me  down  before  very  long.  Old  folks  can't  change  their 
ways,  and  begin  new  plans  and  doings.  I  'm  only  thankful 
that  the  Lord  has  sent  me  a  thought  that  lightens  all  the 
dread  I  've  had  for  years  about  leaving  the  old  place ;  and 
that  I  can  go,  thinking  maybe  there  '11  be  His  work  doing  in 
it  as  long  as  it  stands." 

"I  don't  know,"  she  resumed,  after  a  pause,  "  how  your 
father's  affairs  are  now.  The  likelihood  is,  if  he  has  any 
health,  that  he  '11  go  into  some  kind  of  a  venture  again  be 
fore  very  long.  But  I  shall  have  a  talk  with  him,  and  if 
he  is  n't  satisfied  I  '11  alter  it  so  as  to  do  something  more 
for  you." 

"  Something  more  !  "  said  Faith.  But  you  have  done  a 
great  deal,  as  it  is !  I  did  n't  say  so,  because  I  was  thinking 
so  much  of  the  other." 

"  It  won't  make  an  heiress  of  you,"  said  Aunt  Faith. 
"  But  it  '11  be  better  than  nothing,  if  other  means  fall  short. 
And  I  don't  feel,  somehow,  as  if  you  need  be  a  burden  on 
my  mind.  There  's  a  kind  of  a  certainty  borne  in  on  me, 
otherwise.  I  can't  help  thinking  that  what  I  've  done  haa 
been  a  leading.  And  if  it  has,  it 's  right.  —  Now  put  this 
back,  and  tell  Miss  Sampson  she  may  bring  my  gruel.  ' 


CHAPTER   XXXTT. 
GLORY  MCWHIRK'S  INSPIRATION. 

u  No  bird  am  I  to  ring  in  June, 
And  dare  not  ask  an  equal  boon. 
Good  nests  and  berries  red  are  Nature's 
To  give  away  to  better  creatures, — 
And  yet  my  days  go  on,  go  on." 

Mas.  BROWNING. 

MR.  and  Mrs.  Gartney  arrived  on  Thursday. 

Two  weeks  and  three  days  they  had  been  absent ;  and  in 
that  time  how  the  busy  sprites  of  change  and  circumstance 
had  been  at  work !  As  if  the  scattered  straws  of  events,  that, 
stretched  out  in  slender  winrows,  might  have  reached  across 
a  field  of  years,  had  been  raked  together,  and  rolled  over, 
— crowded  close,  and  heaped,  portentous,  into  these  eighteen 
days! 

Letters  had  told  them  something;  of  the  burned  mill, 
and  Faith's  fearful  danger  and  escape ;  of  Aunt  Hender 
son's  continued  illness,  and  its  present  serious  aspect ;  and 
with  this  last  intelligence,  which  met  them  in  New  York  but 
two  days  since,  Mrs.  Gartney  found  her  daughter's  agitated 
note  of  pained  avowal,  that  she  "  had  come,  through  all  this, 
to  know  herself  better,  and  to  feel  sure  that  this  marriage 
ought  not  to  be  ;  "  that,  in  short,  all  was  at  length  over  be 
tween  her  and  Paul  Kushlei^h. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.       301 

It  was  a  meeting  full  of  thought,  —  where  much  waited 
for  speech  that  letters  could  neither  have  conveyed  nor  sat 
isfied,  —  when  Faith  and  her  father  and  mother  exchanged 
the  kiss  of  love  and  welcome,  once  more,  in  the  little  home 
at  Cross  Corners. 

It  was  well  that  Mis'  Battis  had  made  waffles,  and  spread 
a  tempting  summer  tea  with  these  and  her  nice,  white  bread, 
and  fruits  and  cream ;  and  wished,  with  such  faint  impatience 
as  her  huge  calm  was  capable  of,  that  "  they  would  jest  set 
right  down,  while  things  was  good  and  hot ;  "  and  that  Hen- 
die  was  full  of  his  wonderful  adventures  by  boat  and  train, 
and  through  the  wilds ;  so  that  these  first  hours  were  gotten 
over,  and  all  a  little  used  to  the  old  feeling  of  being  together 
again,  before  there  was  opportunity  for  touching  upon  deeper 
subjects. 

It  came  at  length,  —  the  long  evening  talk,  after  Hendie 
was  in  bed,  and  Mr.  G-artney  had  been  over  to  the  old  house, 
and  seen  his  aunt,  and  had  come  back,  to  find  wife  and 
daughter  sitting  in  the  dim  light  beside  the  open  door,  drawn 
close  in  love  and  confidence,  and  so  glad  and  thankful  to 
have  each  other  back  once  more ! 

First,  —  Aunt  Faith  ;  and  what  was  to  be  done,  —  what 
might  be  hoped  —  what  must  be  feared  —  for  her.  Then, 
the  terrible  story  of  the  fire  ;  and  all  about  it,  that  could 
only  be  got  at  by  the  hundred  bits  of  question  and  answer, 
and  the  turning  over  and  over,  and  repetition,  whereby  we 
do  the  best,  —  the  feeble  best,  —  we  can,  to  satisfy  great 
askings  and  deep  sympathies  that  never  can  be  anyhow 
made  palpable  in  words. 

And,  last  of  all,  — just  with  the  good-night  kiss,  — Faith 
and  her  mother  had  had  it  all  before,  in  the  first  minutea 
they  were  left  alone  together,  —  Mr.  Gartney  said  to  his 
daughter,  — 

26 


S02       FAITH  G  ART  NET'S  GIRLHOOD. 

"  You  are  quite  certain,  now,  Faith?" 

"  Quite  certain,  father;  "  Faith  answered,  low,  with  down« 
cast  eyes,  as  she  stood  before  him. 

Her  father  laid  his  hand  upon  her  head. 

"You  are  a  good  girl;  and  I  don't  blame  you;  yet  I 
thought  you  would  have  been  safe  and  happy,  so." 

"  I  am  safe  and  happy  here  at  home,"  said  Faith. 

"  Home  is  in  no  hurry  to  spare  you,  my  child." 

And  Faith  felt  taken  back  to  daughterhood  once  more. 

Margaret  Eushleigh  had  been  to  see  her,  before  this.  It 
was  a  painful  visit,  with  the  mingling  of  old  love  and  new 
restraint ;  and  the  effort,  on  either  side,  to  show  that  things, 
except  in  the  one  particular,  were  stil^unchanged. 

Faith  felt  how  true  it  was  that  "  nothing  could  go  back, 
precisely,  to  what  it  was  before." 

There  was  another  visit,  a  day  or  two  after  the  re-assem 
bling  of  the  family  at  Cross  Corners.  This  was  to  say 
farewell.  New  plans  had  been  made.  It  would  take  some 
time  to  restore  the  mills  to  working  order,  and  Mr.  Rush- 
leigh  had  not  quite  resolved  whether  to  sell  them  "out  as 
they  were,  or  to  retain  the  property.  Mrs.  Eushleigh 
wished  Margaret  to  join  her  at  Newport,  whither  the  Sara 
toga  party  was  to  go  within  the  coming  week.  Then  there 
was  talk  of  another  trip  to  Europe.  Margaret  had  never 
been  abroad.  It  was  very  likely  they  would  all  go  out  in 
October. 

Paul's  name  was  never  mentioned. 

Faith  realized,  painfully,  how  her  little  hand  had  been 
upon  the  motive  power  of  much  that  was  all  ended,  now. 

Two  eminent  medical  men  had  been  summoned  from 
Mishaumok,  and  had  held  consultation  with  Dr.  Wasgatt 
upon  Miss  Henderson's  case.  It  had  been  decided  to  post 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.       303 

X 

pone  the  surgical  operation  for  two  or  three  weeks.  Mean 
while,  she  was  simply  to  be  kept  comfortable  and  cheerful, 
strengthened  with  fresh  air,  and  nourishing  food,  and  some 
slight  tonics. 

Faith  was  at  the  old  house,  constantly.  Her  aunt  craved 
her  presence,  and  drew  her  more  and  more  to  herself.  The 
strong  love,  kept  down  by  a  stiff,  unbending  manner,  so,  for 
years,  —  resisting  almost  its  own  growth,  —  would  no  longer 
be  denied  or  concealed.  Faith  Gartney  had  nestled  herself 
into  the  very  core  of  this  true,  upright  heart,  unpersuadable 
by  anything  but  clear  judgment  and  inflexible  conscience. 

"  I  had  a  beautiful  dream  last  night,  Miss  Faith,"  said 
Glory,  one  morning,  when  Faith  came  over  and  found  the 
busy  handmaiden  with  her  churn  upon  the  door-stone, 
"  about  Miss  Henderson.  I  thought  she  was  all  well,  and 
strong,  and  she  looked  so  young,  and  bright,  and  pleasant ! 
And  she  told  me  to  make  a  May-day.  And  we  had  it  out 
here  in  the  field.  And  everybody  had  a  crown  ;  and  every 
body  was  queen.  And  the  little  children  danced  round  the 
old  apple-tree,  and  climbed  up,  and  rode  horseback  in  the 
branches.  And  Miss  Henderson  was  out  there,  dressed  in 
white,  and  looking  on.  It  don't  seem  so,  — just  to  say  it ; 
but  I  could  n't  tell  you  how  beautiful  it  was !  " 

"  Dreams  are  strange  things,"  said  Faith,  thoughtfully. 
"  It  seems  as  if  they  were  sent  to  us,  sometimes,  —  as  if  we 
really  had  a  sort  of  life  in  them." 

"Don't  they?"  cried  Glory,  eagerly.  "Why,  Miss 
Faith,  I  've  dreamed  on,  and  on,  sometimes,  a  whole  story 
out !  And,  after  all,  we  're  asleep  almost  as  much  as  we  're 
awake.  Why  is  n't  it  just  as  real  ?  " 

"  I  had  a  dream  that  night  of  the  fire,  Glory.  I  never 
shall  forget  it.  I  went  to  sleep  there,  on  the  sofa.  And  it 


304       FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

seemed  as  if  I  were  on  the  top  of  a  high,  steep  cliff,  with  no 
way  to  get  down.  And  all  at  once,  there  was  fire  behind 
me,  —  a  burning  mountain  !  And  it  came  nearer,  and 
nearer,  till  it  scorched  my  very  feet ;  and  there  was  no  way 
down.  And  then,  —  it  was  so  strange!  —  I  knew  Mr. 
Armstrong  was  coming.  And  two  hands  took  me,  — just 
as  his  did,  afterward,  —  and  I  felt  so  safe  !  And  then  I 
woko,  and  it  all  happened.  When  he  came,  I  felt  as  if  I 
had  called  him." 

The  dasher  of  the  churn  was  still,  and  Glory  stood, 
breathless,  in  a  white  excitement,  gazing  into  Faith's  eyes. 

"  And  so  you  did,  Miss  Faith  !  Somehow,  —  through 
the  dream-land,  — you  certainly  did !  " 

Faith  went  in  to  her  aunt,  and  Glory  churned  and  pon 
dered. 

Were  these  two  to  go  on,  dreaming,  and  calling  to  each 
other  "  through  the  dream-land,"  and  never,  in  the  day 
light,  and  their  waking  hours,  speak  out  ? 

This  thought,  in  vague  shape,  turned  itself,  restlessly,  it 
Glory's  brain. 

Other  brains  revolved  a  like  thought,  also. 

"  Somebody  talked  about  a  'ripe  pear,'  once.  I  wonde« 
if  that  one  is  n't  ever  going  to  fall ! " 

Nurse  Sampson  wondered  thus,  as  she  settled  Miss  Hen 
derson  in  her  arm-chair  before  the  window,  and  they  sa* 
Roger  Armstrong  and  Faith  Gartney  walk  up  the  fiel<i 
together  in  the  sunset  light. 

"  I  suppose  it  would  n't  take  much  of  a  jog  to  do  it.  But, 
majbe,  it's  as  well  to  leave  it  to  the  Lord's  sunshine.  He  '11 
ripen  it,  if  He  sees  fit." 

"  It 's  a  pretty  picture,  anyhow.  There  's  the  new  moon 
exactly  over  their  right  shoulders,  if  they  'd  only  tun.  ii*ch 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD,       305 

heads  to  look  at  it.  I  don't  think  much  of  signs ;  but, 
somehow,  I  always  do  like. to  have  that  one  come  right!  " 

"  Well,  it 's  there,  whether  they  've  found  it  out,  or  not," 
replied  Aunt  Faith. 

Glory  sat  on  the  flat  door-stone.  She  had  the  invariable 
afternoon  knitting- work  in  her  hand ;  but  hand  and  work 
had  fallen  to  her  lap,  and  her  eyes  were  away  upon  the 
glittering,  faint  crescent  of  the  moon,  that  pierced  the 
golden  mist  of  sunset.  Close  by,  the  evening  star  had  filled 
his  chalice  of  silver  splendor. 

"  The  star  and  the  moon  only  see  each  other.  I  can  see 
both.  It  is  better." 

She  had  come  to  the  feeling  of  Eoger  Armstrong's  ser 
mon.  To  receive  consciously,  as  she  had  through  her 
whole  life  intuitively  and  unwittingly,  all  beauty  of  all 
being  about  her  into  the  secret  beauty  of  her  own.  She 
could  be  glad  with  the  gladness  of  the  whole  world. 

The  two  came  up,  and  Glory  rose,  and  stood  aside. 

"  You  have  had  thoughts,  to-night,  Glory,"  said  the  min 
ister.  "  Where  have  they  been  ?  " 

"  Away,  there,"  answered  Glory,  pointing  to  the  western 
sky. 

They  .turned,  and  followed  her  gesture  ;  and  from  up 
there,  at  their  right,  beyond,  came  down  the  traditional 
promise  of  the  beautiful  young  moon. 

Glory  had  shown  it  them. 

"And  I've  been  thinking,  besides,"  said  Glory,  "about 
that  dream  of  yours,  Miss  Faith.  I  've  thought  of  it  all 
day.  Please  tell  it  to  Mr.  Armstrong  ?  " 

And  Glory  disappeared  down  the  long  passage  to  the 
kitchen,  and  left  them  standing  there,  together.  She  went 

straight  to  the  tin-baker   before  the  fire,  and  lifted  the 

26* 


506       FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

cover,  to  seef  if  her  biscuits  were  ready  for  tea.  Then  she 
seated  herself  upon  a  little  bench  that  stood  against  the 
chimney-side,  and  leaned  her  head  against  the  bricks,  and 
looked  down  into  the  glowing  coals. 

"It  was  put  into  my  head  to  do  it!"  she  said,  breath 
lessly,  to  herself.  "  I  hope  it  was  n't  ridiculous  !  " 

So  she  sat,  and  gazed  on,  into  the  coals.  They  were  out 
there  in  the  sunset,  with  the  new  moon  and  the  bright  star 
above  them  in  the  saffron  depths. 

They  stood  alone,  except  for  each  other,  in  this  still, 
radiant  beauty  of  all  things. 

Miss  Henderson's  window  was  around  a  projection  of  the 
rambling,  irregular  structure,  which  made  the  angle  wherein 
the  pleasant  old  door-stone  lay. 

"  May  I  have  your  dream,  Miss  Faith  ?  " 

She  need  not  be  afraid  to  tell  a  simple  dream.  Any 
more,  at  this  moment,  than  when  she  told  it  to  Glory,  that 
morning,  on  that  very  spot.  Why  did  she  feel,  that  if  she 
should  speak  a  syllable  of  it  now,  the  truth  that  lay  behind 
it.  would  look  out,  resistless,  through  its  veil  ?  That  she 
could  not  so  keep  down  its  spirit-meaning,  that  it  should 
not  flash,  electric,  from  her  soul  to  his  ? 

"  It  was  only —  that  night,"  she  said,  tremulously.  "  It 
seemed  very  strange.  Before  the  fire,  I  had  the  dream.  It 
was  a  dream  of  fire  and  danger,  —  danger  that  I  could  not 
escape  from.  And  I  held  out  my  hands,  —  and  I  found  you 
there,  — and  you  saved  me.  Oh,  Mr.  Armstrong!  As  you 
did  save  me,  afterward  1 " 

Eoger  Armstrong  turned,  and  faced  her.  His  deep,  ear 
nest  eyes,  lit  with  a  new,  strange  radiance,  smote  upon  hers, 
and  held  them  spell-bound  with  their  glance. 

"I,  too.  dreamed  that  night,"  —  said  he,  —  "of  an  un- 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.       307 

known  peril  to  you.  You  beckoned  me.  I  sprang  from 
out  that  dream,  and  rushed  into  the  night,  —  until  I  found 
you ! " 

Their  two  souls  met,  in  that  brief  recital,  and  knew  that 
they  had  met  before.  That,  through  the  dream-land,  there 
had  been  that  call  and  answer. 

I'aith  neither  spoke,  nor  stirred,  nor  trembled.  Thia 
supreme  moment  of  her  life  held  her  unmoved  in  its  own 
mightiness. 

.Roger  Armstrong  held  out  both  his  hands. 

"  Faith  !  In  the  sight  of  God,  I  believe  you  belong  to 
me!" 

At  that  solemn  word,  of  force  beyond  all  claim  of  a  mere 
mortal  love,  Faith  stretched  her  hands  in  answer,  and  laid 
them  into  his,  and  bowed  her  head  above  them. 

"  In  the  sight  of  God,  I  belong  to  you  !  " 

So  she  gave  herself.     So  she  was  taken.     As  God's  gift, 
to  the  heart  that  had  been  earthly  desolate  so  long. 
»  There  was  no  dread,  no  shrinking,  in  that  moment.     A 
perfect  love  cast  out  all  fear. 

And  the  new  moon  and  the  evening  star  shone 
together  in  an  absolute  peace. 


CHAPTER  XXXIU. 

LAST    HOUKS. 

In  this  dim  world  of  clouding  cares 
We  rarely  know,  till  'wildered  eyea 
See  white  wings  lessening  up  the  skies, 

The  angels  with  us  unawares. 

Strange  glory  streams  through  life's  wild  rente, 

And  through  the  open  door  of  death 

We  see  the  heaven  that  beckoneth 
To  the  beloved  going  hence." 

GERALD  MASSET. 

"  READ  me  the  twenty-third  Psalm,"  said  Miss  Henderson. 

It  was  the  evening  before  the  day  fixed  upon  by  hei 
physicians  for  the  surgical  operation  she  had  decided  to 
submit  to. 

Faith  was  in  her  place  by  the  bedside,  her  hand  resting 
in  that  of  her  aunt.  Mr.  Armstrong  sat  near,  —  an  open 
Bible  before  him.  Miss  Sampson  had  gone  down  the  field 
for  a  "  snatch  of  air." 

Clear  upon  the  stillness  fell  the  sacred  words  of  cheer. 
There  was  a  strong,  sure  gladness  in  the  tone  that  uttered 
them,  that  told  they  were  born  anew,  in  the  breathing,  from 
a  heart  that  had  proved  the  goodness  and  mercy  of  the  Lord. 

In  a  solemn  gladness,  also,  two  other  hearts  received 
them,  and  said,  silently,  Amen ! 

"  Now  the  fourteenth  of  St.  John." 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.       309 

"  'In  my  father's  house  are  many  mansions.'  'I.  will 
dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord,  forever.'  Yes.  It  holds  us 
all.  Under  one  roof.  One  family, — whatever  happens! 
Now,  put  away  the  book,  and  come  here  ;  you  two !  " 

It  was  done ;  and  Roger  Armstrong  and  Faith  Gartney 
stood  up,  side  by  side,  before  her. 

"  I  haven't  said  so  before,  because  I  would  n't  set  people 
troubling  beforehand.  But  in  my  own  mind,  I  'm  pretty 
sure  of  what 's  coming.  And  if  I  had  n't  felt  so  all  along, 
I  should  now.  When  the  Lord  gives  us  our  last  eurthly 
wish,  and  the  kind  of  peace  comes  over  that  seems  as  if  it 
could  n't  be  disturbed  by  anything,  any  more,  we  may  know, 
by  the  hush  of  it,  that  the  day  is  done.  I  'm  going  to  bid 
you  good-night,  Faith,  and  send  you  home.  Say  your 
prayers,  and  thank  God,  for  yourself  and  for  me.  Whatever 
you  hear  of  me,  to-morrow,  take  it  for  good  news ;  for  it  will 
be  good.  —  Eoger  Armstrong !  Take  care  of  the  child !  — 
Child  !  love  your  husband  ;  and  trust  in  him ;  for  you  may! " 

Close,  close,  — bent  Faith  above  her  aunt,  and  gave  and 
took  that  solemn  good-night  kiss. 

"  '  The  grace  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  the  love  of 
God,  and  the  communion  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  be  with  us  all. 
Amen ! '  " 

With  the  word  of  benediction,  Roger  Armstrong  turned 
frem  the  bedside,  and  led  Faith  away. 

And  the  deeper  shadows  of  night  fell,  and  enfolded  the 
Old  House,  and  the  hours  wore  on,  and  all  was  still.  Stillest, 
calmest  of  all,  in  the  soul  of  her  who  had  dwelt  there  for 
nearly  threescore  years  and  ten,  and  who  knew,  none  the 
less,  that  it  would  be  surely  home  to  her  wheresoever  her 
place  might  be  given  her  next,  in  that  wide  and  beautiful 
"  House  of  the  Lord  1 " 


J10       FAITH    GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

It  was  a  strange  day  that  succeeded  ;  when  they  sat, 
waiting  so,  through  those  morning  hours,  keeping  such  Sab 
bath  as  hoart  and  life  do  keep,  and  are  keeping,  somewhere, 
fclways,  in  whatever  busy  work-day  of  the  world,  when  great 
issues  come  to  solemnize  the  time. 

Almo&t  aa  still  at  the  Old  House  as  at  Cross  Corners. 
No  huriy  No  bustle.  Glory  quietly  doing  her  needful  du 
ties,  ana  obeying  all  direction  of  the  nurse.  Mr.  Armstrong 
in  his  o\vn  loom,  in  readiness  always,  for  any  act  or  errand 
chat  might  be  required  of  him.  Henderson  Gartney  alone 
^n  that  aucient  parlor  at  the  front.  The  three  physicians, 
and  M  iss  Sampson  shut  with  Aunt  Faith  into  her  room.  A 
loint,  breathless  odor  of  ether  creeping  everywhere,  even  out 
into  the  summer  air. 

It  w-»s  eleven  o'clock,  when  a  word  was  spoken  to  Koger 
Armstrong,  and  he  took  his  hat  and  walked  across  the  field. 
Faitb.  with  pale,  asking  face,  met  him  at  the  door. 

"  Well,  —  thus  far  ; "  was  the  message  ;  and  a  kiss  fell 
upon  the  uplifted  forehead,  and  a  look  of  boundless  love  and 
sympathy  into  the  fair,  anxious  eyes.  "  All  has  been  done  ; 
aini  she  is  comfortable.  There  may  still  be  danger  ;  but 
the  *orst  is  past  " 

I  hen  a  brazen  veil  fell  from  before  the  face  of  day.  The 
euushine  looked  golden  again,  and  the  song  of  birds  rang 
out,  unmuffled.  The  strange,  Sabbath  stillness  might  be 
broken.  They  could  speak  common  words,  once  more. 

Faith  and  her  mother  sat  there,  in  the  hill-side  parlor, 
talking  thankfully,  and  happily,  with  Eoger  Armstrong.  So 
a  half-hour  passed  by.  Mr.  Gartney  would  come,  with 
further  tidings,  when  he  had  been  able  to  speak  with  the 
physicians. 

The  shadows  of  shrub  and  tree  crept  and  shortened  to 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.       311 

the  lines  of  noon,  and  still,  'no  word.  They  began  to 
wonder,  why. 

Mr.  Armstrong  would  go  back.  He  might  be  wanted, 
somehow.  They  should  hear  again,  immediately,  unless  he 
were  detained. 

He  was  not  detained.  They  watched  him  up  the  field, 
and  into  the  angle  of  the  door-way.  He  was  hidden  there 
a  moment,  but  not  more.  Then  they  saw  him  turn,  as  one 
lingering  and  reluctant,  and  retrace  his  steps  toward  them. 

"  Faith  !  Stay  here,  darling!  Let  me  meet  him  first," 
said  Mrs.  Gartney. 

Faith  shrank  back,  fearful  of  she  knew  not  what,  into 
the  room  they  had  just  quitted. 

A  sudden,  panic  dread  and  terror  seized  her.  She  felt 
her  hearing  sharpen  ;d,  strained,  involuntarily.  She  should 
catch  that  first  word,  however  it  might  be  spoken.  She 
dared  not  hear  it,  yet.  Out  at  the  hill-side  door,  into  the 
shade  of  the  deep  evergreens,  she  passed,  with  a  quick  im 
pulse. 

Thither  Eoger  Armstrong  followed,  presently,  and  found 
her.  With  the  keen  instinct  of  a  loving  sympathy,  he  knew 
she  fled  from  speech.  So  he  put  his  arm  about  her,  silently, 
tenderly;  and  led  her  on,  and  up,  under  the  close,  coo] 
Bhade,  the  way  their  steps  had  come  to  know  so  well. 

"  Take  it  for  good  news,  darling.  For  it  is  good,"  he 
Baid,  at  last,  when  he  had  placed  her  in  the  rocky  seat,  where 
she  had  listened  to  so  many  treasured  words,  —  to  that  old, 
holy  confidence,  —  of  his. 

And  there  he  comforted  her. 

A  sudden  sinking,  —  a  prostration  beyond  what  they  had 
looked  for,  had  surprised  her  attendants;  and,  almost  with 


S12      FAITH   GAKTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

their  notice  of  the  change,  the  last,  pale,  gray  shadow  had 
swept  up  over  the  calm,  patient  face,  and  good  Aunt  Faith 
had  passed  away. 

Away,  —  for  a  little.  Not  out  of  God's  house.  Not  lost 
out  of  His  household. 

This  was  her  will. 

"  I,  Faith  Henderson,  spinster,  in  sound  mind,  and  of  my  own 
will,  direct  these  things. 

"  That  to  my  dear  grandniece,  Faith  Henderson  Gartney,  be 
given  from  me,  as  my  bequest,  that  portion  of  my  "worldly  prop 
erty  now  invested  in  two  stores  in  D Street,  in  the  city  of 

Mishaumok.  That  this  property  and  interest  be  hers,  for  her  own 
use  and  disposal,  with  my  love. 

"Also,  that  my  plate,  and  my  box  of  best  house  linen,  which 
stands  beside  the  press  in  the  northwest  chamber,  be  given  to 
her,  Faith  Henderson  Gartney ;  and  that  my  nephew,  Henderson 
Gartney,  shall,  according  to  his  own  pleasure  and  judgment,  ap 
propriate  and  dispose  of  any  books,  or  articles  of  old  family  value 
and  interest.  But  that  beds,  bedding,  and  all  heavy  household 
furniture,  with  a  proper  number  of  chairs  and  other  movables, 
be  retained  in  the  house,  for  its  necessary  and  suitable  furnishing. 

"And  then,  that  all  this  residue  of  personal  effects,  and  my 
real  estate  in  the  Old  Homestead  at  Kinnicutt  Cross  Corners,  and 
my  shares  in  the  Kinnicutt  Bank,  be  placed  in  the  hands  of  my 
nephew,  Henderson  Gartney,  to  be  held  in  trust  during  the  natural 
life  of  my  worthy  and  beloved  handmaiden,  Gloriana  McWhirk ; 
for  her  to  occupy  said  house,  and  use  said  furniture,  and  the  in 
come  of  said  property,  so  long  as  she  can  find  at  least  four  orphan 
children  to  maintain  therewith,  and  "  make  a  good  time  for,  every 
day." 

Provided,  that  in  case  the  said  Gloriana  McWhirk  shall  marry 
or  shall  no  longer  so  employ  this  property,  or  in  case  that  she 
shall  die,  said  property  is  to  revert  to  my  above-named  grand 
oiece,  Faith  Henderson  Gartney,  for  her  and  her  heirs,  to  their 
use  and  behoof  forever. 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.      313 

"  And  if  there  be  any  failure  of  a  legal  binding  in  this  pape* 
that  I  write,  I  charge  it  upon  my  nephew,  Henderson  Gartney, 
on  his  conscience,  as  I  believe  him  to  be  a  true  and  honest  man, 
to  see  that  these  my  effects  are  so  disposed  of,  according  to  mj 
plain  will  and  intention, 

(Signed)  FAITH  HENDERSON. 

(Witnessed) 

ROGER  ARMSTRONG, 

HIRAM  WASGATT. 

LTJTHEE  GOODEIA.' 


CHAPTER  XXXIY 

MBS.    PARLEY   GIMP 

"  The  best  laid  schemes  o'  mice  an'  men 
Gang  aft  agley." 

BUBNS. 

KISNICUTT  had  got  nn  enormous  deal  to  talk  about  The 
excitement  of  the  great  fire,  and  the  curiosity  and  astonish 
ment  concerning  Miss  Gartney's  share  in  the  events  of  that 
memorable  night  had  hardly  passed  into  the  quietude  of 
things  discussed  to  death  and  laid  away,  unwillingly,  in 
their  graves,  when  all  this  that  had  happened  at  Cross 
Corners  poured  itself,  in  a  flood  of  wonder,  upon  the  little 
community. 

Not  all,  quite,  at  once,  however.  Faith's  engagement 
was  not,  at  first,  spoken  of  publicly.  There  was  no  need, 
in  this  moment  of  their  common  sorrow,  to  give  their  names 
to  the  little  world  about  them,  for  such  handling  as  it  might 
please.  Yet  the  little  world  found  plenty  to  say,  and  a 
great  many  plans  to  make  for  them  none  the  less. 

Miss  Henderson's  so  long  unsuspected,  and  apparently 
brief  illness,  her  sudden  death,  and  the  very  singular  will 
whose  provisions  had  somehow  leaked  out,  as  matters  of  the 
wit  always  do,  made  a  stir  and  ferment  in  the  place,  and 
everybody  felt  bound  to  arrive  at  some  satisfactory  conclu 
sion  which  should  account  for  all,  and  to  get  a  clear  idea  of 


FAITH   GARTNET'S    GIRLHOOD.      315 

what  everybody  immediately  concerned  would  do,  or  ought, 
in  the  circumstances,  to  do  next,  before  they,  —  the  first 
everybodies,  —  could  eat  and  sleep,  and  go  comfortably 
about  their  own  business  again,  in  the  ordinary  way. 

They  should  think  Mr.  Gartney  would  dispute  the  will. 
It  could  n't  be  a  very  hard  matter,  most  likely,  to  set  it 
aside.  All  that  farm,  and  the  Old  Homestead,  and  hei 
money  in  the  bank,  going  to  that  Glory  McWhirk !  Why, 
it  was  just  ridiculous.  The  old  lady  must  have  been  losing 
her  faculties.  One  thing  was  certain,  any  way.  The  min 
ister  was  out  of  a  boarding-place  again.  So  that  question 
came  up,  in  all  its  intricate  bearings,  once  more. 

This  time  Mrs.  Gimp  struck,  while,  as  she  thought,  the 
iron  was  hot. 

Mr.  Parley  Gimp  met  Mr.  Armstrong,  one  morning,  in 
the  village  street,  and  waylaid  him  to  say  that  "  his  good 
lady  thought  she  could  make  room  for  him  in  their  family,  if 
it  was  so  that  he  should  be  looking  out  for  a  place  to  stay  at." 

Mr.  Armstrong  thanked  him  ;  but,  for  the  present,  he  was 
to  remain  at  Cross  Corners. 

•'At  the  Old  House?" 

"  No,  sir.     At  Mr.  Gartney' s." 

The  iron  was  cold,  after  all. 

Mrs.  Parley  Gimp  called,  one  day,  a  week  or  two  later, 
when  the  minister  was  out.  A  visit  of  sympathetic  scrutiny. 

"  Yes,  it  was  a  great  loss,  certainly.  But  then,  at  her 
age,  you  know,  ma'am !  We  must  all  expect  these  things. 
It  was  awfully  sudden,  to  be  sure.  Must  have  been  a  ter 
rible  shock.  Was  her  mind  quite  clear  at  the  last  ma'am  ?  " 

"  Perfectly.     Clear,  and  culm,  and  happy,  through  it  all." 

"  That's  very  pleasant  to  think  of  now,  I'  m  sure.  But 
I  hear  she 's  made  a  very  extraordinary  arrangement  about 


316       FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

the  property.  You  can't  tell,  though,  to  be  sure,  about  all 
you  hear,  now-a-days." 

"  No,  Mrs.  Gimp.  That  is  very  true,"  said  Mrs.  Gart- 
ney. 

"  Everybody  always  expected  that  it  would  all  come  to 
you.  At  least,  to  your  daughter.  She  seemed  to  make  so 
much  of  her." 

"  My  daughter  is  quite  satisfied,  and  we  for  her." 

"  Well,  I  must  say !  —  and  so,  Mr.  Armstrong  is  to  board 
here,  now  ?  A  little  out  of  the  way  of  most  of  the  parish, 
is  n't  it  ?  I  never  could  see,  exactly,  what  put  it  into  his 
head  to  come  so  far.  Not  but  what  he  makes  out  to  do  his 
Juty  as  a  pastor,  pretty  prompt,  too.  I  don't  hear  any 
complaints.  He 's  rather  off  and  on  about  settling,  though. 
E  guess  he 's  a  man  that  keeps  his  intentions  pretty  close 
to  himself, — and  all  his  affairs,  for  that  matter.  Of  course 
he 's  a  perfect  right  to.  But  I  will  say  I  like  to  know  all 
about  folks  from  the  beginning.  It  aggravates  me  to  have 
to  begin  in  the  middle.  I  tell  Serena,  it 's  just  like  reading 
a  book  when  the  first  volume 's  lost  I  don't  suppose  I  'm 
much  more  curious  than  other  people  ;  but  I  should  like  to 
know  just  how  old  he  is,  for  one  thing  ;  and  who  his  father 
and  mother  were  ;  and  where  he  came  from  in  the  first 
place,  and  what  he  lives  on  ;  for  't  aint  our  salary,  I  know 
that ;  he  's  given  away  more  'n  half  of  it  a'  ready,  —  right 
here  in  the  village.  I  've  said  to  my  husband,  forty  times, 
if  I  've  said  it  once,  '  I  declare,  I  've  a  great  mind  to  ask 
him  myself,  straight  out,  just  to  see  what  he'll  say.' " 

"  And  why  not?"  asked  a  voice,  pleasantly,  behind  her. 

Mr.  Armstrong  had  come  in,  unheard  by  the  lady  in  her 
awn  rush  of  words,  and  had  approached  too  near,  as  thi» 
suddenly  ceased,  to  be  able  to  escape  again  unnoticed. 


FAITH  GARTNEY 'S  GIRLHOOD.       317 

Mis'  Battis  told  Luther  Goodell  afterward,  that  she  "jest 
looked  in  from  the  next  room,  at  that,  and  if  ever  a  woman 
felt  cheap,  —  all  over,  —  and  as  if  she  had  n't  a  right  to  her 
own  toes  and  fingers,  and  as  if  every  thread  and  stitch  on 
her  turned  mean,  all  at  once,  —  it  was  Mrs.  Gimp,  that 
minit!" 

"  Has  Faith  returned  ?  "  Mr.  Armstrong  asked,  of  Mrs, 
Gartney,  after  a  little  pause  in  which  Mrs.  Gimp  showed 
no  disposition  to  develop  into  deed  her  forty  times  declared 
"  great  mind." 

"  I  think  not.  She  said  she  would  remain  an  hour  or  two 
with  Glory,  and  help  her  to  arrange  those  matters  she  came 
in,  this  morning,  to  ask  us  about." 

"  I  will  walk  over." 

And  the  minister  took  his  hat  again,  and  with  a  bow  to 
the  two  ladies,  passed  out,  and  across  the  lane. 

"  Faith!  "  ejaculated  the  village  matron,  her  courage 
and  her  mind  to  meddle  returning.  "Well,  that's  inti 
mate  ! " 

It  might  as  well  be  done  now,  as  at  any  time.  Mr.  Arm 
strong,  himself,  had  heedlessly  precipitated  the  occasion. 
It  had  only  been,  among  them,  a  question  of  how  and  when. 
There  was  nothing  to  conceal. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Gartney,  quietly.  "  They  will  be 
married  by-and-by." 

"Did  she  go  out  the  door,  ma'am?  Or  has  she  melted 
down  into  the  carpet?  'Cause,  I  have  heerd  of  people 
sinkin'  right  through  the  floor,"  said  Mis'  Battis,  who  "jest 
looked  in  "  a  second  time,  as  the  bewildered  visitor  receded. 

The  pleasant  autumn  months,  mellowing  and  brightening 
all  things,  seemed  also  to  soften  and  gild  their  memoriea 

27* 


318      FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

of  the  life  that  had  ended,  ripely  and  beautifully,  among 
them. 

Glory,  after  the  first  overwhelm  of  astonishment  at  what 
had  befallen  her,  —  made  fully  to  understand  that  which 
Bhe  had  a  right,  and  was  in  duty  bound  to  do,  —  entered 
upon  the  preparations  for  her  work  with  the  same  unaffect 
ed  readiness  with  which  she  would  have  done  the  bidding 
of  her  living  mistress.  It  was  so  evident  that  her  true 
humbleness  was  untouched  by  alL  "It's  beautiful!  "  and 
the  tears  and  smiles  would  come  together  as  she  said  it. 
"But  then,  Miss  Faith  —  Mr.  Armstrong !  I  never  can  do 
any  of  it  unless  you  help  me  !  " 

Faith  and  Mr.  Armstrong  did  help  with  heart  and  hand, 
and  every  word  of  counsel  that  she  needed. 

"  I  must  buy  some  cotton  and  calico,  and  make  some 
little  clothes  and  tyers.  Had  n't  I  better  ?  When  they 
come,  I  '11  have  them  to  take  care  of." 

And  with  the  loving  anticipation  of  a  mother,  she  made 
up,  and  laid  away,  Faith  helping  her  in  all,  her  store  of 
small  apparel  for  little  ones  that  were  to  come. 

She  had  gone  down,  one  day,  to  Mishaumok,  and  found 
out  Bridget  Foye,  at  the  old  number  in  High  Street.  And 
to  her  she  had  entrusted  the  care  of  looking  up  the  children, 
—  to  be  not  less  than  five,  and  not  more  than  eight  or  nine 
years  of  age, — who  should  be  taken  to  live  with  her  at  "  Miss 
Henderson's  home,"  and  "  have  a  good  time  every  day." 

"  I  must  get  them  here  before  Christmas,"  said  Glory  to 
her  friends.  "  We  must  hang  their  stockings  all  up  by  the 
great  kitchen  chimney,  and  put  sugar-plums  and  picture 
books  in ! " 

She  was  going  back  eagerly  into  her  child-life,  —  rather 
into  the  life  her  childhood  wist  of,  but  missed,  —  and  would 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.       319 

live  it  all  over,  now,  with  these  little  ones,  taken  already, 
before  even  they  were  seen  or  found,  out  of  their  stranger- 
hood  into  her  great,  kindly  heart ! 

A  plain,  capable,  motherly  woman  had  been  obtained,  by 
Mr.  Armstrong's  efforts  and  inquiry,  who  would  live  with 
Glory  as  companion  and  assistant.  There  was  the  dairy- 
work  to  be  carried  on,  still.  This,  and  the  hay-crops,  made 
the  principal  income  of  the  Old  Farm.  A  few  fields  were 
rented  for  cultivation. 

"  Just  think,"  cried  Glory  when  the  future  management 
of  these  matters  was  talked  of,  "  what  it  will  be  to  see  the 
little  things  let  out  a  rolling  in  the  new  hay  !  " 

Her  thought  passed  so  entirely  over  herself,  as  holder  and 
arbiter  of  means,  to  the  good,  —  the  daily  little  joy,  —  that 
was  to  come,  thereby,  to  others! 

"When  all  was  counted  and  calculated,  they  told  her  that 
she  might  safely  venture  to  receive,  in  the  end,  six  children. 
But  that,  for  the  present,  four  would  perhaps  be  as  many  as 
it  would  be  wise  for  her  to  undertake. 

"You  know  best,"  she  said,  "and  I  shall  do  whatever 
you  say.  But  I  don't  feel  afraid,  —  any  more,  that  is,  for 
taking  six  than  four.  I  shall  just  do  for  them  all  the  time, 
whether  or  no." 

"  And  what  if  they  are  bad  and  troublesome,  Glory?  " 

"Oh,  they  won't  be,"  she  replied.  "I  shall  love  them 
•0!" 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

INDIAN    SUMMER. 

Tto  as  If  the  benignant  Hearen 
Had  a  new  revelation  given, 

And  written  it  out  with  gems ; 

For  the  golden  tops  of  the  elms 
And  the  burnished  bronze  of  the  ash 
And  the  scarlet  lights  that  flash 
From  the  sumach's  points  of  flame, 

Like  blazonings  on  a  scroll 
Spell  forth  an  illumined  Name 

For  the  reading  of  the  soul ! 

IT  is  of  no  use  to  dispute  about  the  Indian  Summer.  I 
never  found  two  people  who  could  agree  as  to  the  time  when 
it  ought  to  be  here,  or  upon  a  month  and  day  when  it  should 
be  decidedly  too  late  to  look  for  it.  It  keeps  coming.  After 
the  Equinoctial,  which  begins  to  be  talked  about  with  the 
first  rains  of  September,  and  is  n't  done  with  till  the  Sun 
has  measured  half-a-dozen  degrees  of  south  declination,  all 
the  pleasant  weather  is  Indian  Summer,  — away  on  to  Christ 
mas-tide.  For  my  part,  I  think  we  get  it  now  and  then, 
little  by  little,  as  "  the  kingdom  "  comes.  That  every  soft 
warm,  mellow,  hazy,  golden  day,  like  each  fair,  fragrant 
life,  is  a  part  and  outcrop  of  it ;  though  weeks  of  gale  and 
frost,  or  ages  of  cruel  worldliness  and  miserable  sin  may  lie 
between. 

It  was  an  Indian  Summer  day,  then ;  and  it  was  in  Oc 
tober. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.       321 

Faith  and  Mr.  Armstrong  walked  over  the  brook,  and 
round  by  Pasture  Eocks,  to  the  "little  chapel,"  as  Faith 
had  called  it,  since  the  time,  last  winter,  when  she  and 
Glory  had  met  the  minister  there,  in  the  still,  wonderful, 
pure  beauty  that  enshrined  it  on  that  "  diamond  morning." 

The  elms  that  stood  then,  in  their  icy  sheen,  about  the 
meadows,  like  great  cataracts  of  light,  were  soft  with  amber 
drapery,  now ;  translucent  in  each  leaf  with  the  detained 
sunshine  of  the  summer ;  and  along  the  borders  of  the  wood- 
walk,  scarlet  flames  of  sumach  sprang  out,  vivid,  from  among 
the  lingering  green  ;  and  birches  trembled  with  their  golden 
plumes ;  and  bronzed  ash  boughs,  and  deep  crimsons  and 
maroons  and  chocolate-browns  and  carbuncle  red  that  crown 
ed  the  oaks  with  richer  and  intenser  hues,  made  up  a  wealth 
and  massiveness  of  beauty  wherein  eye  and  thought  revelled 
and  were  sated. 

Over  and  about  all,  the  glorious  October  light,  and  the 
dreamy  warmth  that  was  like  a  palpable  love. 

They  stood  on  the  crisp  moss  carpet  of  the  "  half-way 
rock,"  —  the  altar-crag  behind  them,  with  its  cherubim  that 
waved  illumined  wings  of  tenderer  radiance  now,  —  and 
gazed  over  the  broad  outspread  of  marvellous  color ;  and 
thought  of  the  summer  that  had  come  and  gone  since  they 
had  stood  there,  last,  together,  and  of  the  beauty  that  had 
breathed  alike  on  earth  and  into  life,  for  them. 

"  Faith,  darling !  Tell  me  your  thought,"  said  Eoger 
Armstrong. 

"  This  was  my  thought,"  Faith  answered,  slowly.  "  That 
first  sermon  you  preached  to  us, — that  gave  me  such  a 
hope,  then,  —  that  comes  up  to  me  so,  almost  as  a  warn 
ing,  now !  The  poor,  —  that  were  to  have  the  kingdom  1 
And  then,  those  other  words,  — '  how  hardly  shall  they 


322      FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

who  have  riches  enter  in ! '    And  I  am  so  rich !     It  fright 
ens  me." 

"  Entire  happiness  does  make  one  tremble.  Only,  if  wa 
feel  God  in  it,  and  stand  but  the  more  ready  for  His  work, 
we  may  be  safe." 

"  His  work  —  yes,"  Faith  answered.  "  But  now  he  only 
gives  me  rest  It  seems  as  if,  somehow,  I  were  not  worthy 
of  a  hard  life.  As  if  all  things  had  been  made  too  easy  for 
me.  And  I  had  thought,  so,  of  some  great  and  difficult 
thing  to  do." 

Then  Faith  told  him  of  the  oracle  that,  years  ago,  had 
first  wakened  her  to  the  thought  of  what  life  might  be  ;  of 
the  "high  and  holy  work"  that  she  had  dreamed  of;  and 
of  her  struggles  to  fulfil  it,  feebly,  in  the  only  ways  that  as 
yet  had  opened  for  her. 

"And  now — just  to  receive  all,  —  love,  and  help,  and 
care,  —  and  to  rest,  and  to  be  so  wholly  happy !  " 

"  Believe,  darling,  that  we  are  led,  through  all.  That 
the  oil  of  joy  is  but  as  an  anointing  for  a  nobler  work.  It 
is  only  so  I  dare  to  think  of  it  We  shall  have  plenty  to 
do,  Faithie !  And,  perhaps,  to  bear.  It  will  all  be  set 
before  us,  in  good  time." 

"But  nothing  can  be  hard  to  do,  any  more.  That  is  what 
makes  me  almost  feel  unworthy.  Look  at  Nurse  Sampson. 
Look  at  Glory.  They  have  only  their  work,  and  the  love 
of  God  to  help  them  in  it  And  I  — !  Oh,  I  am  not  poor 
any  longer.  The  words  don't  seem  to  be  for  me." 

"  Let  us  take  them  with  their  double-edge  of  truth. 
then.  Holding  ourselves  always  poor,  in  sight  of  the  infinite 
Bpiritual  riches  of  the  kingdom.  Blessed  are  the  poor,  who 
can  feel,  even  in  the  keenest  earthly  joy,  how  there  is  a 
fulness  of  life  laid  up  in  Him  who  gives  it,  of  whose  depth 


FAITR  GARTNET'S  GIRLHOOD.       323 

the  best  gladness  here  is  but  a  glimpse  and  foretaste !  "W> 
will  not  be  selfishly  or  unworthily  content,  God  helping  us 
my  little  one  ! " 

"  It  is  so  hard  not  to  be  content ! "  whispered  Faith,  as  th« 
strong,  manly  arm  held  her,  in  its  shelter,  close  beside  thr 
noble,  earnest  heart. 

"  I  think,"  said  Koger  Armstrong,  afterward,  as  the} 
walked  down  over  the  fragrant  pathway  of  fallen  pine  leaves 
"  that  I  have  never  known  an  instance  of  one  more  evidentlj 
called,  commissioned,  and  prepared  for  a  good  work  in  the 
world,  than  Glory.  Her  whole  life  has  been  her  education 
for  it.  It  is  not  without  a  purpose,  when  a  soul  like  hers  ia 
left  to  struggle  up  through  such  externals  of  circumstance. 
We  can  love  and  help  her  in  it,  Faith ;  and  do  something, 
in  our  way,  for  her,  as  she  will  do,  in  hers,  for  others." 

"  Oh,  yes !  "  assented  Faith,  impulsively.  "  I  have  wish 
ed  "  but  there  she  stopped. 

"Am  I  to  hear  no  more?"  asked  Mr.  Armstrong,  pres 
ently.  "  Have  I  not  a  right  to  insist  upon  the  wish?  " 

"  I  forgot  what  I  was  coming  to,"  said  Faith,  blushing 
deeply.  "  I  spoke  of  it,  one  day,  to  mother.  And  she  said 
it  was  a  thing  I  couldn't  decide  for  myself,  now.  That 
some  one  else  would  be  concerned,  as  well  as  I." 

"  And  some  one  else  will  be  sure  to  wish  as  you  do.  Only 
there  may  be  a  wisdom  in  waiting.  Faithie,  —  I  have  never 
told  you  yet,  —  will  you  be  frightened  if  I  tell  you  now,  — 
that  I  am  not  a  poor  man,  as  the  world  counts  poverty  ? 
My  friend,  of  whom  you  know,  in  those  terrible  days  of  the 
commencing  pestilence,  having  only  his  daughter  and  myseft 
to  care  for,  made  his  will ;  in  provision  against  whatever 
might  befall  them  there.  By  that  will,  —  through  the  fear 
ful  sorrow  that  made  it  effective,  —  I  came  into  possession 


S24      FAITH    GAXTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

of  a  large  property.  Your  little  inheritance,  Faithie,  goes 
into  your  own  little  purse  for  private  expenditures  or  chari 
ties.  But  for  the  present,  as  it  seems  to  me,  Glory  has 
ample  means  for  all  that  it  is  well  for  her  to  undertake. 
By-and-by,  as  she  gains  in  years  and  in  experience,  you  will 
have  it  in  your  power  to  enlarge  her  field  of  good.  '  Miss 
Henderson's  Home '  may  grow  into  a  wider  benefit  than  even 
ehe,  herself,  foresaw." 

Faith  was  not  frightened.  These  were  not  the  riches  that 
could  make  her  tremble  with  a  dread  lest  earth  should  too 
fully  satisfy.  This  was  only  a  promise  of  new  power  to 
work  with ;  a  guaranty  that  God  was  not  leaving  her  merely 
to  oare  for  and  to  rest  in  a  good  that  must  needs  be  all  her 
own. 

"  We  shall  find  plenty  to  do,  Faithie !  "  Mr.  Armstrong 
repeated  ;  and  he  held  her  hand  in  his  with  a  strong  pres 
sure  that  told  how  the  thought  of  that  work  to  come,  and 
her  sweet  and  entire  association  in  it,  leaped  along  his  pulses 
with  a  living  joy. 

Faith  caught  it ;  and  all  fear  was  gone.  She  could  not 
shrink  from  the  great  blessedness  that  was  laid  upon  her, 
any  more  than  Nature  could  refuse  to  wear  her  coronation 
robes,  that  trailed  their  radiance  in  this  path  they  trod. 

Life  held  them  in  a  divine  harmony. 

The  October  sun,  that  mantled  them  with  warmth  and 
glory;  the  Indian  Summer,  that  transfigured  earth  about 
them;  all  tints, — all  redolence,  —  all  broad  beatitude  of 
globe  and  sky,  —  were  none  too  much  to  breathe  out  and 
make  palpable  the  glad  and  holy  auspice  of  the  hour. 

Mr.  Gartney  had  gradually  relinquished  his  half-formed 
thought  of  San  Francisco.  Already  the  unsettled  and  threat 


FAITH  GARTNEY' S  GIRLHOOD.       325 

emng  condition  of  affairs  in  the  country  had  begun  to  make 
men  feel  that  the  time  was  not  one  for  new  schemes  or  ad 
venturous  changes.  Somehow,  the  great  wheels,  mercantile 
and  political,  had  slipped  out  of  their  old  grooves,  and  went 
laboring,  as  it  were,  roughly  and  at  random,  with  fierce 
clattering  and  jolting,  quite  off  the  ordinary  track  ;  so  that 
none  could  say  whether  they  should  finally  regain  it,  and 
roll  smoothly  forward,  as  in  the  prosperous  and  peaceful 
days  of  the  past,  or  should  bear  suddenly  and  irretrievably 
down  to  some  horrible,  unknown  crash  and  ruin. 

Henderson  Gartney,  however  was  too  restless  a  man  to 
wait,  with  entire  passiveness,  the  possible  turn  and  issue  of 
things. 

Quite  strong,  again,  in  health,  —  so  great  a  part  of  his 
burden  and  anxiety  lifted  from  him  in  the  marriages,  actual 
and  prospective,  of  his  two  daughters, — and  his  means 
augmented  by  the  sale  of  a  portion  of  his  western  property 
which  he  had  effected  during  his  summer  visit  thereto,  —  it 
was  little  to  be  looked  for  that  he  should  consent  to  vegetate, 
idly  and  quietly,  through  a  second  winter  at  Cross  Corners. 

The  first  feeling  of  some  men,  apparently,  when  they  have 
succeeded  in  shuffling  off  a  load  of  difficulty,  is  a  sensation 
of  the  delightful  ease  with  which  they  can  immediately 
shoulder  another.  As  when  one  has  just  cleared  a  desk  or 
drawer  of  rubbish,  there  is  such  a  tempting  opportunity 
made  for  beginning  to  stow  away  and  accumulate  again. 
Well !  the  principle  is  an  eternal  one.  Nature  does  abhoi 
a  vacuum. 

The  greater  portion  of  the  ensuing  months,  therefore, 
Mr.  Gartney  spent  in  New  York ;  whither  his  wife  and  chil 
dren  accompanied  him,  also,  for  a  stay  of  a  few  weeks  ;  dur 
ing  which.  Faith  and  her  mother  accomplished  the  inevita 

28 


326        FAITH  GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

ble  shopping  that  a  coming  wedding  necessitates ;  and  set 
in  train  of  preparation  certain  matters  beyond  the  range  of 
Kinnicutt  capacity  and  resource. 

Mr.  Armstrong,  too,  was  obliged  to  be  absent  from  hia 
parish  for  a  little  time.  Affairs  of  his  own  required  some 
personal  attention.  He  chose  these  weeks  while  the  others, 
also,  were  away. 

,It  was  decided  that  the  marriage  should  take  place  in  the 
coming  spring ;  and  that  then  the  house  at  Cross  Corners 
should  become  the  home  of  Mr.  Armstrong  and  Faith ;  and 
that  Mr.  Gartney  should  remove,  permanently,  to  New 
York,  where  he  had  already  engaged  in  some  incidental  and 
preliminary  business  transactions.  His  purpose  was  to  fix 
himself  there,  as  a  shipping  and  commission  merchant,  con 
cerning  himself,  for  a  large  proportion,  with  California  trade. 

The  house  in  Mishaumok  had  been  rented  for  a  term  of 
five  years.  One  change  prepares  the  way  for  another. 
Things  never  go  back  precisely  to  what  they  were  before. 

Mr.  Armstrong,  after  serious  thought,  had  come  to  this 
conclusion  of  accepting  the  invitation  of  the  Old  Parish  at 
Kinnicutt  to  remain  with  it  as  its  pastor,  because  the  place 
itself  had  become  endeared  to  him  for  its  associations  ;  be 
cause,  also,  it  was  Faith's  home,  which  she  had  learned  to 
love  and  cling  to ;  because  she,  too,  had  a  work  here,  in 
assisting  Glory  to  fulfil  the  terms  of  her  aunt's  bequest ; 
and  because,  country  parish  though  it  was,  and  a  limited 
sphere,  as  it  might  seem,  for  his  means  and  talents,  he  saw 
the  way  here,  not  only  to  accomplish  much  direct  good  in 
the  way  of  his  profession,  but  as  well  for  a  wider  exercise  of 
power  through  the  channel  of  authorship ;  for  which  a  more 
onerous  pastoral  charge  would  not  have  left  him  the  need« 
ful  quiet  or  leisure. 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.       327 

So,  with  these  comings  and  goings,  these  happy  plans, 
and  helpings  and  on-lookings,  the  late  autumn  weeks  merged 
in  winter,  and  days  slipped  almost  imperceptibly  by,  and  " 
Christmas  came. 

Three  little  orphan  girls  had  been  welcomed  into  "  Misa 
Henderson's  Home."  And  only  one  of  them  had  hair  that 
would  curl.  Eut  Glory  gave  the  other  two  an  extra 
each,  every  morning 


CHAPTER  XXXV  . 

CHRISTMAS-TIDE. 

**  Through  suffering  and  through  sorrow  thou  hart  past 
To  show  us  what  a  woman  true  may  be ; 
They  have  not  taken  sympathy  from  thee, 
Nor  made  thee  any  other  than  thou  wast ; 

Nor  hath  thy  knowledge  of  adversity 
Robbed  thee  of  any  faith  in  happiness, 
But  rather  cleared  thine  inner  eye  to  see 
How  many  simple  ways  there  are  to  bless." 

LOWELL. 

"  And  if  any  painter  drew  her, 
He  would  paint  her  unaware, 
With  a  halo  round  the  hair." 

MBS.  BEOWNIUO. 

THERE  were  dark  portents  abroad.  Rumors,  ant*  wweata, 
and  prognostications  of  fear  and  strife  teemed  in  the  columns 
of  each  day's  sheet  of  news,  and  pulsed  wildly  along  the 
electric  nerves  of  the  land  ;  and  men  looked  out,  as  into  a 
coming  tempest,  that  blackened  all  the  southerly  sky  with 
wrath  ;  and  only  that  the  horror  was  too  great  to  be  believed 
in,  they  could  not  have  eaten  and  drunken,  and  bought  and 
sold,  and  planted  and  builded,  as  they  did,  after  the  age-old 
manner  of  man,  in  these  days  before  the  flood  that  was  to  come. 

Civil  war,  like  a  vulture  of  hell,  was  swooping  down  from 
the  foul  fastness  of  iniquity  that  had  hatched  her  in  its 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.       329 

high  places,  and  that  reared  iteelf,  audaciously,  in  the  very 
face  of  Heaven. 

And  a  voice,  as  of  a  mighty  angel,  sounded  "Wo'  wo! 
wo !  to  the  inhabiters  of  earth ! " 

And  still  men  but  half  heard  and  comprehended ;  and 
still  they  slept  and  rose,  and  wrought  on,  each  in  his  own 
work,  and  planned  for  the  morrow,  and  for  the  days  that 
were  to  be. 

And  in  the  midst  of  all,  came  the  blessed  Christmas  tide. 
Yes !  even  into  this  world  that  has  rolled  its  seething  bur 
den  of  sin  and  pain  and  shame  and  conflict  along  the  listen 
ing  depths  through  waiting  cycles  of  God's  eternity,  was 
Christ  once  born ! 

And  little  children,  of  whom  is  the  kingdom,  in  their 
simple  faith  and  holy  unconsciousness,  were  looking  for  the 
Christmas  good,  and  wondering  only  what  the  coming  joy 
should  be. 

The  shops  and  streets  of  Mishaumok  were  filled  with 
busy  throngs.  People  forgot,  for  a  day,  the  fissure  that  had 
just  opened,  away  there  in  the  far  South-land,  and  the 
fierce  flames  that  shot  up,  threatening,  from  the  abyss. 
What  mattered  the  mass  meetings,  and  the  shouts,  and  the 
guns,  along  those  shores  of  the  Mexican  Gulf?  To-night 
would  be  Christmas  Eve ;  and  there  were  thousands  of  little 
stockings  waiting  to  be  hung  by  happy  firesides,  and  they 
must  all  be  filled  for  the  morrow. 

So  the  shops  and  streets  were  crowded,  and  people  with 
arms  full  of  holiday  parcels  jostled  each  other  at  every 
corner.  It  was  n't  like  the  common  days,  when  they  passed 
by,  self-absorbed,  unknowing  and  unheeding  what  might  be 
each  other's  object  or  errand.  There  was  a  common  busi 
ness  to  be  done  to-day.  Everybody  knew  what  everybody 

28* 


330       FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

else  was  after ;  and  the  lady  whose  carriage  waited  at  the 
door,  half  filled  with  costly  purchases,  stood  elbow  to  elbow 
at  the  gay  counter  with  one  whose  face  was  pale  and  wearied 
with  the  many  thoughts  and  steps  it  cost  her  to  make  the 
three  dollars  in  her  pocket,  which  she  dared  not  break  till 
ahe  had  quite  settled  what  every  cent  should  go  for,  buy 
something  for  each  one  of  five. 

As  the  day  wore  on,  the  hurry  and  the  crowd  increased. 
Grave,  dignified  mei  might  now  and  then  be  seen  with  queer 
packages  in  their  arms,  held  awkwardly ;  for  the  errand-boy  a 
in  the  shops  were  overbusied  and  uncertain ;  and  some  thinga 
must  be  transported  with  especial  care,  and  nothing,  to-night, 
must  fail  of  its  destination.  Dolls'  arms  and  legs  betrayed 
themselves  through  their  long  swathings,  and  here  and  there 
the  nose  or  tail  of  a  painted  horse  had  pricked  its  way  out 
of  its  paper  wrapping ;  coat  pockets  hung  heavy  with  sweet 
burdens;  the  neat,  square  parcels,  fastened  with  colored 
twine,  told  of  booksellers'  treasures ;  all  along  the  shifting 
eea  of  faces  you  read  one  gleam  of  pleased  anticipation ; 
coins  had  melted  into  smiles ;  the  soul  of  Christmas  was 
abroad  ;  the  "  better  to  give  than  to  receive"  was  the  key 
note  of  the  kindly  carnival. 

There  are  odd  encounters  in  this  world-tumble  that  we 
live  in.  In  the  early  afternoon,  at  one  of  the  bright  show 
cases,  filled  within  and  heaped  without  with  toys,  two  women 
met, — as  strangers  are  always  meeting,  with  involuntary 
touch  and  glance, — borne  together  in  a  crowd, — atoma 
impinging  for  an  instant,  never  to  approach  again,  perhaps, 
in  all  the  coming  combinations  of  time. 

These  two  women,  though,  had  met  before. 

One,  sharp,  eager,  —  with  a  stylish-shabby  air  of  dresa 
•bout  her,  and  the  look  of  pretence  that  shopmen  know,  at 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.       331 


and  asked  prices,  where  she  had  no  actual 
ot  buying,  —  holding  by  the  hand  a  child  of  six, 
who  dragged  and  teased,  and  got  an  occasional  word  that 
crushed  him  into  momentary  silence,  but  who,  tired  with 
the  sights  and  the  Christmas  shopping,  had  nothing  for  it 
but  to  begin  to  drag  and  tease  again  ;  another,  with  bright, 
hippy,  earnest  eyes  and  flushing  checks,  and  hair  rolled 
back  in  a  golaen  wealth  beneath  her  plain  straw  bonnet  ; 
bonnet,  and  dress,  and  all,  of  simple  black  ;  these  two  came 
face  to  face. 

The  shabby  woman  with  the  sharp  look  recognized  noth 
ing.  Glory  McWhirk  knew  Mrs.  Grabbling,  and  the  child 
of  six  that  had  been  the  Grubbling  baby. 

All  at  once,  she  had  him  in  her  arms  ;  and  as  if  not  a 
moment  had  gone  by  since  she  held  him  so  in  the  little, 
dark,  upper  entry  in  Budd  Street,  where  he  had  toddled 
to  her  in  his  night-gown,  for  her  grieved  farewell,  was 
hugging  and  kissing  him,  with  the  old,  forgetting  and 
forgiving  love. 

Mrs.  Grubbling  looked  on  in  petrified  amaze.  Glory  had 
transferred  a  fragrant  white  paper  parcel  from  her  pocket  to 
the  child's  hands,  and  had  thrust  upon  that  a  gay  tin  horse 
from  the  counter,  before  it  occurred  to  her  that  the  mother 
might,  possibly,  neither  remember  nor  approve. 

"  1  beg  your  pardon,  ma'am,  for  the  liberty;  and  it  'svery 
likely  you  don't  know  me.  I  'm  Glory  McWhirk,  that  used 
to  live  with  you,  and  mind  the  baby." 

And  then  she  seized  once  more  the  big  boy  in  whom  the 
baby  of  olden  time  was  merged,  and  well-nigh  lost,  and  who 
had  already  plunged  his  fingers  into  the  candies,  and  waa 
satisfying  himself  as  to  the  perfect  propriety  of  all  that  had 
occurred,  by  the  sure  recognition  of  peppermint-stick.  — 


332       FAITH    GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

and  had  the  hugs  and  kisses  all  over  again,  without  ever 
waiting  for  a  word  of  license. 

Mrs.  Grabbling  was  not  in  the  least  offended.  There  was 
an  air  of  high  respectability  in  the  public  avowal  of  this 
very  nice-looking  young  woman  that  she  had  once  "lived 
with  her  and  tended  baby."  Also,  in  the  fervor  of  attach 
ment  that  evinced  itself  in  these  embraces.  It  spoke  well, 
surely,  for  the  employer.  There  are  those  who  can  take  a 
credit  to  themselves,  even  from  their  •  failure  to  thwart  and 
spoil  a  nobleness  that  has  overlived  their  meanness.  As 
they  might,  in  their  Pharisaism,  from  the  very  sunlight  of 
God,  whose  spontaneous  outflow  no  evil  of  man  can  quench 
or  turn  aside.  The  earth  rolls  on,  and  is  not  yet  consumed. 
The  blue  sky  is  set  safely  above  its  smirch.  No  track  of  its 
sin  lies  foul  across  the  firmament.  Therefore,  impotent 
sinners,  rejoice  in  the  day- shine,  and  think  well  of  your 
selves  that  heaven  still  smiles ! 

"  I  'm  sure  I  'm  glad  to  see  you,  Glory,"  said  Mrs.  Grub- 
bling,  patronizingly  ;  "and  I  hope  you  've  been  doing  well 
since  you  went  away  from  me."  As  if  she  had  been  doing 
so  especially  well  before,  that  there  might  easily  be  a  doubt 
as  to  whether  going  farther  had  not  been  faring  worse.  I 
have  no  question  that  Mrs.  Grubbling  really  fancied,  at  the 
moment,  that  the  foundation  of  all  the  simple  content  and 
quiet  prosperity  that  evidenced  themselves  at  present  in  the 
person  of  her  former  handmaid,  had  been  laid  in  Budd  Street 

"And  where  are  you  living  now?"  proceeded  she,  as 
Glory  resigned  the  boy  to  his  mint-stick,  and  was  saying 
good-bye. 

"  Out  in  Kinnicutt,  ma'am ;  at  Miss  Henderson's ;  where 
I  have  been  ever  since," 

She  never  thought  of  triumphing.     She  never  dreamed 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.       333 

of  what  it  would  be  to  electrify  her  former  mistress  with  the 
announcement  that  she  whom  she  had  since  served  had  died, 
and  left  her,  Glory  McWhirk,  the  life-use  of  more  than  half 
her  estate.  That  she  dwelt  now,  as  proprietress,  where  she 
had  been  a  servant.  Her  humbleness  and  her  faithfulness 
were  so  entire  that  she  never  thought  of  herself  as  occupying, 
in  the  eyes  of  others,  such  position.  She  was  Miss  Hender 
son's  handmaiden,  still ;  doing  her  behest,  simply,  as  if  she 
had  but  left  her  there  in  keeping,  while  she  went  a  journey. 

So  she  bade  good-bye,  and  courtesied  to  Mrs.  Grubbling, 
and  gathered  up  her  little  parcels,  and  went  out.  Fortu 
nately.  Mrs.  Grubbling  was  half-stunned,  as  it  was.  It  is 
impossible  to  tell  what  might  have  resulted,  had  she  then 
and  there  been  made  cognizant  of  more.  Not  to  the  shorn 
lamb,  alone,  always,  are  sharp  winds  beneficently  tempered. 
There  is  a  mercy,  also,  to  the  miserable  wolf. 

Glory  had  one  trouble,  to-day,  that  hindered  her  pure, 
free  and  utter  enjoyment  of  what  she  had  to  do. 

All  day  she  had  seen,  here  and  there  along  the  street, 
little  forlorn  and  ragged  ones,  straying  about  aimlessly,  as 
if  by  any  chance,  a  scrap  of  Christmas  cheer  might  even  fall 
to  them,  if  only  they  kept  out  in  the  midst  of  it.  There 
was  a  distant  wonder  in  their  faces,  as  they  met  the  buyers 
among  the  shops,  and  glanced  at  the  fair,  fresh  burden? 
they  carried ;  and  around  the  confectioners'  windows  they 
would  cluster,  sometimes,  two  or  three  together,  and  look: 
as  if  one  sense  could  take  in  what  was  denied  so  to  another. 
She  knew  so  well  what  the  feeling  of  it  was !  To  see  the 
good  times  going  on,  and  not  be  in  'em !  She  longed  so  to 
gather  them  all  to  herself,  and  take  them  home,  and  make  a 
Christmas  for  them ! 

She  could  only  drop  the  pennies  that  came  to  her  LJ 


334       FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

change  loose  into  her  pocket,  and  give  them,  one  by  one, 
along  the  wayside.  And  she  more  than  once  offered  a  bright 
quarter,  (it  was  in  the  days  when  quarters  yet  were,  reader !) 
when  she  might  have  counted  out  the  sum  in  lesser  bits, 
that  so  the  pocket  should  be  kept  supplied  the  longer. 

Down  by  the  — Eailway  Station,  the  streets  were  dim, 

and  dirty,  and  cheerless.  Inside,  the  passengers  gathered 
about  the  stove,  where  the  red  coals  gleamed  cheerful  in  the 
already  gathering  dusk  of  the  vinter  afternoon.  A  New 
York  train  was  going  out ;  and  all  sorts  of  people,  —  from 
the  well-to-do,  portly  gentleman  of  business,  with  his  good 
coat  buttoned  comfortably  to  his  chin,  his  tickets  bought, 
his  wallet  lined  with  bank-notes  for  his  journey,  and  secretly 
stowed  beyond  the  reach  (if  there  be  such  a  thing)  of  pick 
pockets,  and  the  Mishaumok  Journal,  Evening  Edition,  damp 
from  the  press,  unfolded  in  his  fingers,  to  the  care-for- naught, 
dare-devil  little  news-boy  who  had  sold  it  to  him,  and  who 
now  saunters  off*,  varying  his  monotonous  cry  with  — 

"  Jour-nal,  gentlemen !  Eve-nin'  'dition  !  Georgy  out  1 " 
("  What's  that?"  exclaims  an  inconsiderate.) 
"  Georgy  out !  (Little  brother  o'  mine.  Seen  him  any 
where  ?)  Evc-nin'  'dition  !  Jour-nal,  gentlemen  !  "  and  the 
shivering  little  candy-girl,  threading  her  way  with  a  silent 
imploringness  among  the  throng,  —  were  bustling  up  and 
down,  in  waiting-rooms,  and  on  the  platforms,  till  one 
would  think,  assuredly,  that  the  centre  of  all  the  world's 
activity,  at  this  moment,  lay  here ;  and  that  everybody  not 
going  in  this  particular  express  train  to  New  York,  must  be 
utterly  devoid  of  any  aim  or  object  in  life,  whatever. 

So  we  do,  always,  carry  our  centre  about  with  us.     A 
little  while  ago  all  the  world  was  buying  dolls  and  tin 


GARTNET'S  GIRLHOOD.       335 


horses.     Horizons  shift  and  ring  themselves  about  us,  and 
we,  ourselves,  stand  always  in  the  middle. 

By-and-by,  however,  the  last  call  was  heard. 

"  Passengers  for  New  York  !  Train  ready  !  All  aboard  !  " 

And  with  the  ringing  of  the  bell,  and  the  mighty  gasping 
of  the  impatient  engine,  and  a  scuffle  and  scurry  of  a  minute, 
in  which  carpet-bags  and  babies  were  gathered  up  and 
shouldered  indiscriminately,  the  rooms  and  the  platforms 
were  suddenly  cleared  of  all  but  a  few  stragglers,  and  half 
a  dozen  women  with  Christmas  bundles,  who  sat  waiting 
for  trains  to  way  stations. 

Two  little  pinched  faces,  purple  with  the  bitter  cold, 
looked  in  at  the  door. 

"  It's  good  and  warm  in  there.     Less'  go  !  " 

And  the  older  drew  the  younger  into  the  room,  toward 
the  glowing  stove. 

They  looked  as  if  they  had  been  wandering  about  in  the 
dreary  streets  till  the  chill  had  touched  their  very  bones. 
The  larger  of  the  two,  a  boy,  —  torn  hopelessly  as  to  his 
trowsers,  dilapidated  to  the  last  degree  as  to  his  fragment 
of  a  hat,  —  knees  and  elbows  making  their  way  out  into 
the  world  with  the  faintest  shadow  of  opposition,  —  had, 
perhaps  from  this,  a  certain  look  of  pushing  knowingness 
that  set  itself,  by  the  obscure  and  inevitable  law  of  compen 
sation,  over  against  the  gigantic  antagonism  of  things  he 
found  himself  born  into  ;  and  you  knew,  as  you  looked  at 
him,  that  he  would,  somehow,  sooner  or  later,  make  his 
small  dint  against  the  great  dead  wall  of  society  that  loomed 
itself  in  his  way  ;  whether  society  or  he  should  get  the  worst 
of  it,  might  happen  as  it  would. 

The  younger  was  a  little  girl.  A  flower  thrown  down  iu 
the  dirt.  A  jewel  encrusted  with  mean  earth.  Little  feet 


336       FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

in  enormous  coarse  shoes,  cracked  and  trodden  down  ;  bare 
arms  trying  to  hide  themselves  under  a  bit  of  old  woolen 
shawl ;  hair  tangled  beneath  a  squalid  hood ;  out  amidst  all, 
a  face  of  beauty  that  peeped,  like  an  unconscious  draft  of 
God's  own  signing,  upon  humanity.  Was  there  none  to 
acknowledge  it  ? 

An  official  came  through  the  waiting-room. 

The  boy  showed  a  slink  in  his  eyes,  like  one  used  to 
shoving  and  rebuff,  and  to  getting  off,  round  corners.  The 
girl  stood,  innocent  and  unheeding. 

"  There  !  out  with  you !     No  vagrums  here  !  " 

Of  course,  they  could  n't  have  all  Queer  Street  in  their 
waiting-rooms,  these  railway  people ;  and  the  man's  words 
were  rougher  than  his  voice.  But  these  were  two  children, 
who  wanted  cherishing  1 

The  slink  in  the  boy's  eye  worked  down,  and  became  a 
sneak  and  a  shuffle,  toward  the  door.  The  girl  was  follow 
ing. 

"  Stop ! "  called  a  woman's  voice,  sharp  and  authoritative. 
"  Don't  you  stir  a  single  step  either  of  you,  till  you  get  warm  I 
If  there  isn't  any  other  way  to  fix  it,  I'll  buy  you  both  a 
ticket  somewhere  and  then  you'll  be  passengers." 

It  was  a  tall,  thin,  hoopless  woman,  with  a  carpet-bag,  a 
plaid  shawl,  and  an  umbrella  ;  and  a  bonnet  that,  since  other 
bonnets  had  begun  to  poke,  looked  like  a  chaise  top  flat 
tened  back  at  the  first  spring.  In  a  word,  Mehitable 
Sampson. 

Something  twitched  at  the  corners  of  the  man's  mouth  as 
he  glanced  round  at  this  sudden  and  singular  champion. 
Something  may  have  twitched  under  his  comfortable  waist 
coat,  also.  At  any  rate,  he  passed  on ;  and  the  children,  — 
tLe  brief  battledore  over  in  which  they  had  been  the  shuttle 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.       337 

cocks,  —  crept  back,  compliant  with  the  second  order,  much 
amazed,  toward  the  stove. 

Miss  Sampson  began  to  interrogate. 

"Why  don't  you  take  your  little  sister  home  ?  " 

"  This  one  ain't  iny  sister."  Children  always  set  people 
right  before  they  answer  queries. 

"Well,  —  whoever  she  is,  then.  Why  don't  you  both 
go  home  ?  " 

"Cause  its  cold  there,  too.  And  we  was  sent  to  find 
sticks." 

"  If  she  isn't  your  sister,  who  does  she  belong  to?  " 

"  She  don't  belong  to  nobody.  She  lived  upstairs,  and 
her  mother  died,  and  she  came  down  to  us.  But  she's  goin' 
to  be  took  away.  Mother's  got  five  of  us,  now.  She's 
goin'  to  the  poor-house.  She 's  a  regular  little  brick, 
though ;  aint  yer,  Jo  ?  " 

The  pretty,  childish  lips  that  had  begun  to  grow  red  and 
life-like  again,  parted,  and  showed  little  rows  of  milk-teeth, 
like  white  shells.  The  blue  eyes  and  the  baby  smile  went 
up,  confidingly,  to  the  young  ragamuffin's  face.  There  had 
been  kindness  here.  The  boy  had  taken  to  Jo,  it  seemed ; 
and  was  benevolently  evincing  it,  in  the  best  way  he  could, 
by  teaching  her  goodnatured  slang. 

"  Yes ;  I  'm  a  little  brick,"  she  lisped. 

Miss  Sampson's  keen  eyes  went  from  one  to  the  other, 
resting  last  and  long  on  Jo. 

"I  shouldn't  wonder,"  she  said,  deliberately,  "if you 
was  Number  Four ! " 

"  Whereabouts  do  you  live  ?  "  suddenly,  to  the  bqy. 

"  Three  doors  round  the  corner.  'Taint  number  four, 
though.  It's  ninety- three. " 

"  What's  your  name  ?  "          *» 

29 


338      FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

"  Tim  Kafferty." 

"  Tim  Rafferty !  Did  anybody  ever  trust  you  with  a 
carpet-bag  ?  " 

"  I've  carried  'em  up.  But  then  they  mostly  goes  along, 
and  looks  sharp." 

"  Well,  now  I'm  going  to  leave  you  here,  with  this  one. 
If  anybody  speaks  to  you,  say  you  was  left  in  charge. 
Don't  stir  till  I  come  back.  And  —  look  here  !  if  yau  sec  a 
young  woman  come  in,  with  bright,  wavy  hair,  and  a  black 
gown  and  bonnet,  and  if  she  comes  and  speaks  to  you,  aa 
most  likely  she  will,  tell  her  I  said  I  shouldn't  wonder  if 
this  was  Number  Four !  " 

And  Nurse  Sampson  went  out  into  the  street. 

When  she  came  back,  the  children  sat  there,  still;  and 
Glory  McWhirk  was  with  them. 

"  I  don't  know  as  I'd  any  business  to  meddle ;  and  I 
have  n't  made  any  promises ;  but  I  've  found  out  that  you 
can  do  as  you  choose  about  it,  and  welcome.  And  I  could  n't 
help  thinking  you  might  like  to  have  this  one  for  Number 
Four." 

Glory  had  already  nestled  the  poor,  tattered  child  close 
to  her,  and  given  her  a  cake  to  eat  from  the  refreshment 
counter. 

Tim  Rafferty  delivered  up  the  carpet-bag,  in  proud  in 
tegrity.  To  be  sure,  there  were  half  a  dozen  people  in  the 
loom  who  had  witnessed  its  intrustment  to  his  hands  ;  but 
I  think  he  would  have  waited  there,  all  the  same,  had  the 
coast  been  clear. 

Miss  Sampson  gave  him  ten  cents,  and  recounted  to  Glory 
what  she  had  learned  at  number  ninety-three. 

"  She's  a  strange  child,  left  on  their  hands ;  and  they  're 
aa  poor  as  death.  They  were  going  to  give  her  in  charge 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.       339 

to  the  authorities.  The  woman  said  she  could  n't  feed  hex 
another  day.  That's  about  the  whole  of  it.  If  Tim  don't 
bring  her  back,  they'll  know  where  she  is,  and  be  thankful." 

"  Do  you  want  to  go  home  with  me,  and  hang  up  your 
gt coking,  and  have  a  Christmas  ?  " 

"  My  golly!  "  ejaculated  Tim,  staring. 

The  little  one  smiled  shyly,  and  was  mute.  She  didn't 
know  what  Christmas  was.  She  had  been  cold,  and  now 
she  was  warm,  and  her  mouth  and  hands  were  filled  with 
sweet  cake.  And  there  were  pleasant  words  in  her  ears. 
That  was  all  she  knew.  As  much  as  we  shall  comprehend 
at  first,  perhaps,  when  the  angels  take  us  up  out  of  the 
earth-cold,  and  give  us  the  first  morsel  of  heavenly  good  to 
stay  our  cravings. 

This  was  how  it  ended.  Tim  had  a  paper  bag  of  apples 
and  cakes,  with  some  sugar  pigs  and  pussy-cats  put  in  at 
the  top,  and  a  pair  of  warm  stockings  out  of  Glory's  bag,  to 
carry  home,  for  himself ;  and  he  was  to  say  that  the  lady 
who  came  to  see  his  mother  had  taken  Jo  away  into  the 
country.  To  Miss  Henderson's,  at  Kinnicutt.  Glory  wrote 
these  names  upon  a  paper.  Tim  was  to  be  a  good  boy,  and 
some  day  they  would  come  and  see  him  again. 

Then  Nurse  Sampson's  plaid  shawl  was  wrapped  about 
little  Jo,  and  pinned  close  over  her  rags  to  keep  out  the 
cold  of  Christmas  Eve ;  and  the  bell  rang  presently ;  and 
she  was  taken  out  into  the  bright,  warm  car,  and  tucked  up 
in  a  corner,  where  she  slept  all  the  hour  that  they  were 
steaming  over  the  road. 

And  so  these  three  went  out  to  Kinnicutt  to  keep  Christ 
mas  at  the  Old  House. 

So  Glory  carried  home  the  Christ-gift  that  had  come 
to  her. 


340       FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

Tim  went  back,  alone,  to  number  ninety-three.  He  had 
his  bag  of  good  things,  and  his  warm  stockings,  and  hia 
wonderful  story  to  tell.  And  there  was  more  supper  and 
breakfast  for  five  than  there  would  have  been  for  six. 
Nevertheless,  somehow,  he  missed  the  "  little  brick" 

Out  at  Cross  Corners,  Miss  Henderson's  Home  was  all 
aglow.  The  long  kitchen,  which,  by  the  outgrowth  of  the 
house  for  generations,  had  come  to  be  a  central  room,  waa 
flooded  with  the  clear  blaze  of  a  great  pine  knot,  that 
crackled  in  the  chimney ;  and  open  doors  showed  neat  ad 
joining  rooms,  in  and  out  which  the  gleams  and  shadows 
played,  making  a  suggestive  pantomime  of  hide  and  seek. 
It  was  a  grand  old  place  for  Christmas  games !  And  three 
little  bright-faced  girls  sat  round  the  knee  of  a  tidy,  cheery 
old  woman,  who  told  them,  in  a  quaint  Irish  brogue,  the 
story  of  the  "  little  rid  hin,"  that  was  caught  by  the  fox, 
and  got  away,  again,  safe,  to  her  own  little  house  in  the 
woods,  where  she  "lived  happy  iver  afther,  an'  got  a  fine 
little  brood  of  chickens  to  live  wid  her ;  an'  pit  'em  all 
intill  warrum  stockings  and  shoes,  an'  round-o  caliker 
gowns." 

And  they  carped  at  no  discrepancies  or  improbabilities ; 
jut  seized  all  eagerly,  and  fused  it  in  their  quick  imagina 
tions  to  one  beautiful  meaning ;  which,  whether  it  were  of 
chicken-comfort,  overbrooded  with  warm  love,  or  of  a  clothed, 
contented  childhood,  in  safe  shelter,  mattered  not  a  bit. 

Into  this  warm,  blithe  scene  came  Glory,  ju.?t  as  the  fable 
was  ended  for  the  fourth  time,  bringing  the  last  little  chick, 
flushed  and  rosy  from  a  bath  ;  born  into  beauty,  like  Venua 
from  the  sea ;  her  fair  hair,  combed  and  glossy,  hanging 
about  her  neck  in  curls;  and  wrapped,  not  in  a  "  round-o- 
caliker,"  but  in  a  scarlet  flannel  night-gown,  comfortable 


842      FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

friends  who  bad  helped  and  sympathized  in  all,  and  said, 
with  a  quick  overflow  of  feeling,  that  could  find  only  the 
old  words  wherein  to  utter  herself,  — 

"  Such  a  time  as  this!  Such  a  beautiful  time  1  And  to 
think  that  I  should  be  in  it !  " 

Miss  Henderson's  will  was  fulfilled. 

A  happy,  young  life  had  gathered  again  about  the  ancient 
hearthstone  that  had  'seen  two  hundred  years  of  human 
change. 

The  Old  House,  wherefrom  the  last  of  a  long  line  had 
passed  on  into  the  Everlasting  Mansions,  had  become  God's 
heritage. 

Nurse  Sampson  spent  her  Christmas  with  the  Gartneys. 

They  must  have  her  again,  they  told  her,  at  parting,  for 
the  wedding ;  which  would  be  in  May. 

"  I  may  be  a  thousand  miles  off,  by  that  time.  But  1 
shall  think  of  you,  all  the  same,  wherever  I  am.  My  work 
is  coming.  I  feel  it.  There  'a  a  smell  of  blood  and  death 
in  the  air ;  and  all  the  strong  hearts  and  hands  '11  be  wanted 
You '11  see  it." 

And  with  that,  she  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XXXVH. 

THE  "WEDDING   JOURNEY. 

«« The  tree 

Bucks  kindlier  nurture  from  a  soil  enriched 
By  its  own  fallen  leaves ;  and  man  is  made, 
In  heart  and  spirit,  from  deciduous  hopes 
And  things  that  seem  to  perish." 

"  A  stream  always  among  woods  or  in  the  sunshine  is  pleasant  f  j  <*fi.  «md 
happy  in  itself.  Another,  forced  through  rocks,  and  choked  wit'i  baud, 
under  ground,  cold,  dark,  comes  up  able  to  heal  the  world." 

FROM  "  SEED  G  t.AiN." 

"  SHALL  we  plan  a  wedding  journey,  Faith  ?  " 

It  was  one  evening  in  April  that  Mr  Armstrong  said 
this.  The  day  for  the  marriage  had  been  fixed  for  the  first 
week  in  May. 

Faith  had  something  of  the  bird-nature  about  her.  Al 
ways,  at  this  moment  of  the  year,  a  restlessness,  akin  to 
that  which  prompts  the  flitting  of  winged  things  that  trick 
the  sunshine  and  the  creeping  greenness  that  goes  up  the 
latitudes,  had  used  to  seize  her,  inwardly.  Something  ,tmt 
came  with  the  swelling  of  tender  buds,  and  the  springing 
of  bright  blades,  and  the  first  music  born  from  winter  silence, 
had  prompted  her  with  the  whisper,  —  "Abroad  I 
Out  into  the  beautiful  earth ! " 

It  had  been  one  of  her  unsatisfied  longings.     Sht 


344      FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

thought,  what  a  joy  it  would  be  if  she  could  have  said, 
frankly,  "Father,  mother!  let  us  have  a  pleasant  journey 
in  the  lovely  weather ! " 

And  now,  that  one  stood  at  her  side,  who  would  have 
taken  her  in  his  tender  guardianship  whithersoever  she 
might  choose,  —  now  that  there  was  no  need  for  hesitancy 
in  her  wish,  —  this  child,  who  had  never  been  beyond  the 
Hudson,  who  had  thought  longingly  of  Catskill,  and  Trenton, 
and  Niagara,  and  had  seen  them  only  in  her  dreams,  —  felt, 
inexplicably,  a  contrary  impulse,  that  said  within  her,  "  Not 
yet !  "  Somehow,  she  did  not  care,  at  this  great  and  beau 
tiful  hour  of  her  life,  to  wander  away  into  strange  places. 
Its  holy  happiness  belonged  to  home. 

"  Not  now.  Unless  you  wish  it.  Not  on  purpose.  Take 
me  with  you,  sometime,  when,  perhaps,  you  would  have 
gone  alone.  Let  it  happen" 

"  We  will  just  begin  our  quiet  life,  then,  darling,  shall 
we  ?  The  life  that  is  to  be  our  real  blessedness,  and  that 
has  no  need  to  give  itself  a  holiday,  as  yet.  And  let  the 
work-days  and  the  holidays  be  portioned  as  God  pleases  ?  " 

"  It  will  be  better,  — happier,"  Faith  answered,  timidly. 
"  Besides,  with  all  this  fearful  tramping  to  war  through  the 
whole  land,  how  can  one  feel  like  pleasure-journeying  ?  And 

then "  there  was  another  little  reason  that  peeped  out 

last,  —  "they  would  have  been  so  sure  to  make  a  fuss  about 
us  in  New  York !  " 

The  adjuncts  of  life  had  been  much  to  her  in  those  rest- 
leps  days  when  a  dark  doubt  lay  over  its  deep  reality.  She 
had  found  a  passing  cheer  and  relief  in  them,  then.  Now, 
she  was  so  sure,  so  quietly  content  1  It  was  a  joy  too  sacred 
to  be  intermeddled  with. 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.       MS 

So  a  family  group,  only,  gathered  in  the  hill-side  parlor, 
on  the  fair  May  morning  wherein  good,  venerable  Mr.  Hol 
land  said  the  words  that  made  Faith  Gartney  and  Roger 
Armstrong  one. 

It  was  all  still,  and  bright,  and  simple.  Glory,  standing 
modestly  by  the  door,  said  within  herself,  "  it  was  like  a 
little  piece  of  heaven." 

And  afterward,  —  not  the  bride  and  groom,  — but  father, 
mother,  and  little  brother,  said  good-bye,  and  went  away 
upon  their  journey,  and  left  them  there.  In  the  quaint, 
pleasant  home,  that  was  theirs  now,  under  the  budding 
elms,  with  the  smile  of  the  May  promise  pouring  in. 

And  Glory-  made  a  May-day  at  the  Old  House,  by-and-by. 
And  the  little  children  climbed  in  the  apple-branches,  and 
perched  there,  singing,  like  the  birds. 

And  was  there  not  a  white-robed  presence  with  them, 
somehow,  watching  all  ? 

Nearly  three  months  had  gone.  The  hay  was  down.  .The 
distillation  of  sweet  clover  was  in  all  the  air.  The  little 
ones  at  the  Old  House  were  out,  in  the  lengthening  shadows 
?f  the  July  afternoon,  rolling  and  revelling  in  the  perfumed, 
elastic  heaps. 

Faith  Armstrong  stood  with  Glory,  in  the  porch-angle, 
looking  on. 

Calm  and  beautiful.  Only  the  joy  of  birds  and  children 
making  sound  and  stir  across  the  summer  stilluess. 

Away  over  the  broad  face  of  the  earth,  out  from  such 
peace  as  this,  might  there,  if  one  could  look,  —  unroll  some 
vision  of  horrible  contrast  ?  Were  blood,  and  wrath,  and 
groans,  and  thunderous  roar  of  guns  down  there  under  that 
tar,  fair  horizon,  stooping  in  golden  beauty  to  the  cool,  green 
bills? 


346       FAITH  GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

Faith  walked  down  the  field-path,  presently,  to  meet  hei 
husband,  coming  up.  He  held  in  his  hand  an  open  paper, 
that  he  had  brought,  just  now,  from  the  village. 

There  was  news. 

Rout,  horror,  confusion,  death,  dismay. 

The  field  of  Manassas  had  been  fought.  The  Union 
armies  were  falling  back,  in  disorder,  upon  Washington. 

Breathlessly,  with  pale  faces,  and  with  hands  that  grasped 
each  other  in  a  deep  excitement  that  could  not  come  to 
speech,  they  read  those  columns,  together. 

Down  there,  on  those  Virginian  plains,  was  this. 

And  they  were  here,  in  quiet  safety,  among  the  clover 
blooms,  and  the  new-cut  hay.  Elsewhere,  men  were  mown. 

"  Koger ! "  said  Faith,  when,  by-and-by,  they  had  grown 
calmer  over  the  fearful  tidings,  and  had  had  Bible  words 
of  peace  and  cheer  for  the  fevered  and  bloody  rumors  of 
men,  —  "  might  n't  we  take  our  wedding  journey,  now  ?  " 

All  the  bright,  early  summer,  in  those  first  months  of 
their  life  together,  they  had  been  finding  work  to  do.  Work 
they  had  hardly  dreamed  of  when  Faith  had  feared  she 
might  be  left  to  a  mere,  unworthy,  selfish  rest  and  happi 
ness. 

The  old  New  England  spirit  had  roused  itself,  mightily, 
in  the  little  country  town.  People  had  forgotten  their  own 
needs,  and  the  provision  they  were  wont  to  make,  at  this 
time,  each  household  for  itself.  Money  and  material,  and 
quick,  willing  hands  were  found,  and  a  good  work  went  on ; 
and  kindling  zeal,  and  noble  sympathies,  and  hearty  prayers 
,  wove  themselves  in,  with  toil  of  thread  and  needle,  to  homely 
fabrics,  and  embalmed,  with  every  finger-touch,  all  whereon 
they  labored. 

They  had   remembered  the  old   struggle  wherein  theu 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.       347 

country  had  been  born.  They  were  glad  and  proud  to  bear 
their  burden  in  this  grander  one  wherein  she  was  to  be  born 
anew,  to  higher  life. 

Roger  Armstrong  and  his  wife  had  been  the  spring  and 
soul  and  centre  of  all. 

And  now,  Faith  said,  —  "  Roger  1  may  n't  we  take  our 
wedding  journey  ?  " 

Not  for  a  bridal  holiday,  —  not  for  gay  change  and  pleas 
ure,  —  but  for  a  holy  purpose,  went  they  out  from  home. 

Down  among  the  wounded,  and  war-smitten.  Bearing 
comfort  of  gifts,  and  helpful  words,  and  prayers.  Doing 
whatsoever  they  found  to  do,  now ;  seeking  and  learning 
what  they  might  best  do,  hereafter.  Truly,  God  left  them 
not  without  a  work.  A  noble  ministry  lay  ready  for  them, 
at  this  very  threshold  of  their  wedded  life. 

In  the  hospital  at  Georgetown,  they  found  Nurse  Samp 
son. 

"I  told  you  so,"  she  said.  "I  knew  it  was  coming. 
And  the  first  gun  brought  me  down  here  to  be  ready.  I  've 
been  out  to  Western  Virginia ;  and  I  came  back  here  when 
we  got  the  news  of  this.  I  shall  follow  round,  wherever 
the  clouds  roll." 

In  Washington,  still  another  meeting  awaited  them. 

Paul  Rushleigh,  in  a  Captain's  uniform,  came,  one  day, 
to  the  table  of  their  hotel. 

The  first  gun  had  brought  him,  also,  where  he  could  be 
ready.  He  had  sailed  for  home,  with  his  father,  upon  the 
reception,  abroad,  of  the  tidings  of  the  fall  of  Sumter. 

"  Your  country  will  want  you,  now,  my  son,"  had  been 
the  words  of  the  brave  and  loyal  gentleman.  And,  like 
another  Abraham,  he  had  set  his  face  toward  the  mount 
of  sacrifice. 


848       FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

There  was  a  new  light  in  the  young  man's  eye.  A  soul 
awakened  there.  A  purpose,  better  than  any  plan  or  hope 
of  a  mere  happy  living  in  the  earth. 

He  met  his  old  friends  frankly,  generously ;  and,  seem 
ingly,  without  a  pang.  They  were  all  one  now,  in  the  sub 
lime  labor  that,  in  their  several  spheres,  lay  out  before 
them. 

"  You  were  right,  Faith,"  he  said,  as  i.e  stood  with  them, 
and  spoke  briefly  of  the  past,  before  they  parted.  "  I  shall 
be  more  of  a  man,  than  if  I  'd  had  my  first  wish.  This  war 
is  going  to  make  a  nation  of  men.  I  'm  free,  now,  to  give 
my  heart  and  hand  to  my  country,  as  long  as  she  needs  me. 
And  by-and-by,  perhaps,  if  I  live,  some  woman  may  love 
me  with  the  sort  of  love  you  have  for  your  husband.  J  feel 
now,  how  surely  I  should  have  come  to  be  dissatisfied  with 
less.  God  bless  you  both !  " 

"  God  bless  you,  Paul  1 " 


387 


''•& 


It  ItOV  0 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACIL 


AA      000199714    7 


